


Burn Down the Sun

by phaelsafe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Dark Crystal, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-03
Updated: 2012-06-03
Packaged: 2017-11-06 18:22:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/421841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phaelsafe/pseuds/phaelsafe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester gets out of Hell only to find out he's been tasked by fate to save the world from demons yet again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burn Down the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [DC Ever After](http://http://dc-everafter.livejournal.com/) though I missed the deadline.
> 
> Thank you to saltfree, flowcrazy, twisty, and dapperscript, my alphas and betas, for helping me finally get this together!
> 
> Prophecy written by [leinthalexandra](http://archiveofourown.org/users/leinthalexandra)

The angels came first, creatures of devotion and obedience. Then God created humans and told the angels to love humans as He did, but some of the angels discovered envy and became resentful of the free will humans had been granted. They separated into factions: those who followed the will of God, and those who did not. 

The battle between the two, led by the archangels Michael and Lucifer, was fierce. The moon was wrenched right out of orbit, causing death and destruction around the world as the oceans – no longer bound by the cycle of the tides – flooded across the face of the earth. 

The Grace of each feuding angel was bound by God within a crystal, their only connection to Heaven, and they were banished for their transgressions, sentenced to earth, and ordered to silently watch humanity until they could love and accept His creations. 

But the crystal cracked, and the power within was corrupted. Without the power of Heaven to sustain them, the angels faded into oblivion. 

~~~~~~ 

_A flare of white marks his rescue from the rack. A hand grabs him, and the smell of his soul burning is so common in this place that he almost doesn't notice how the touch sears into him. The bliss that sings along his nerves and soothes away the years of pain, however, is so foreign that he can't help but fall into the clutching embrace and welcome the unconditional love and rapture that envelops him._

Dean snaps awake, trying desperately to connect a face to that of his savior in the dream while the images are still fresh in his mind. 

Bobby knocks on the door and pokes his head in. "Might want to get up and get dressed. Pam will be over soon," he suggests as Dean rolls out of bed. 

The nightmares come when he sleeps, yet another souvenir acquired from spending forty years in Hell. Not that Dean needs to be reminded of his torture: he can call to mind every disturbing moment right up to the point just before someone or _something_ yanked him out. 

Dean has no idea how to start a discussion about what happened to him. His brother, though concerned, thankfully doesn't bring it up, and Bobby is willing to wait until Dean is ready to talk. 

Nightmares about Hell are understandable, expected even, but the fact that Dean is dreaming, after months of nothing, about whoever granted him salvation seems to bother everyone else. Dean had made an offhand and very much unintentional comment about the addition to his dreams, and Bobby decided to call his psychic friend over to figure it out. 

And what does it matter if he can't remember who set him free? It's not a big deal to Dean; he's out even if he is repressing something so important. 

Really, Dean just wants to move on. Their lives are getting better: Sam is alive and well; Dean is also alive _and no longer in Hell_. There could be fewer monsters in the world in need of killing, but they're working on that. All things considered, he should be happy. 

Except, he can't explain the void within him. It's deep and dark, and Dean can't seem to fill it, regardless of what he tries. He goes through the motions, smiling, and joking, and fighting when he needs to, but he feels empty and aimless inside. 

~~~~~~ 

Pamela shows up just as Bobby finishes scraping together a late morning meal. They sit down to a heaping pile of eggs and bacon, and Pamela starts the conversation off with a comment regarding the impressive firmness of Sam's ass. 

Dean likes her immediately, and he genuinely laughs at Sam's awkward reaction. 

As they finish the meal, Pamela drops her fork and she shoves her plate away. "All right, big boy, let's see it." 

"What?" 

She gestures at his shoulder. "I need to touch something our mystery monster touched." 

The handprint-shaped scar on his shoulder usually just tingles in distracting and not entirely unpleasant ways, but the thought of someone else touching it makes Dean uncomfortable. He definitely wants to pull away when she presses her hand to it. Her eyes fall closed, and she lifts her chin, listening to the silence that folds in around them. Dark waves of hair fall away from the angles of her face as she begins to speak; her recitation is mechanical, as if the words are whispered to her by an invisible presence: 

> When those who Fell from Grace find Grace once more,  
>  –the twisted ones who fled with the Morningstar–  
>  The light within darkness will crack,  
>  The sun shall be made black–  
>  And the world will shatter, lest their power be undone  
>  By a Righteous Hand, or else by none.

A shrill ring forces Pamela from her trance, and Bobby throws his napkin on the table. "Well, that ain't ominous or nothing," he says as he strides over to the phone and yanks it to his ear. 

"And you thought you only had a few _awkward_ dreams to worry about. It's about you, though," she says, a rueful smile twisting her lips, and she points a finger at Dean. "And your dreams are most certainly related." 

Dean pulls back, startled. As he opens his mouth to ask, Sam beats him to the punch. "I know Morningstar is a common nickname for the Devil, but the twisted ones, Righteous Hand? What does any of that even mean?" 

"I don't know. It's a prophecy recited by those who have passed on. It's not easy to decipher what they have to say in the first place. And prophecies of this magnitude are really rare. They don't usually come with an interpretation," Pamela explains as she studies the table. 

"What _magnitude_?" Dean asks, skeptical. He's accepted a lot of the weirdness in the world – experienced much of it himself – but he has his limits. 

"With the number of voices speaking out? And they were all doom and gloom there, complete with the wailing and the teeth-gnashing and the breast-beating...." She sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. "Whatever this is, it's pretty big." 

"So, like the end of the world or something?" Dean intentionally exaggerates his interpretation but Pamela levels him with a flat look. "Wait, _I'm_ supposed to stop the apocalypse?" 

Bobby interrupts the group still sitting around the table with a snap of his fingers. "Got a case for you two near where the Navajo live. Several people have drowned. Mysteriously, and on dry land, leaving behind weird shadow-like things instead of your typical restless spirits," he announces as he places the phone back onto the cradle. "Just as vicious as the vengeful kind though. Sounds like it might be pretty serious." 

"Isn't that," Sam begins, hesitating briefly as he glances in Dean's direction, "uhm, kind of close to the Devil's gate?" 

"What's that?" Pamela asks as she starts clearing away the table. She offers a stack of plates to Dean. 

Dean snags the last of the bacon and directs a baffled look at her. "Just what it sounds like." 

"Enlighten me," she blazes back. "I assume it has something to do with demons. I try to steer clear of 'em, and luckily, they don't come up that often in my line of work." 

"It's an area where the veil between worlds is thin enough to pierce that demons can cross without using a summoning spell," Sam explains. Hopping to his feet, he glares at Dean for his terrible manners, then transfers the dishes to the sink. "They somehow got a hold of that land and built a tower on it. All but impossible to approach without being seen from miles away. Not that anyone willingly goes near there these days." 

"Except the Navajo. There are several different tribes that have lived around that area since before the Europeans landed on this continent," Bobby adds. "Despite the proximity, they don't seem too bothered by the demons, and the demons tend to leave them alone." 

"Demons are rare, and they usually only interact with people who are easily swayed into making deals, exchanging souls for some kind of favor. Lately though? They're appearing more and more frequently," Dean says somberly. "An apocalyptic revelation, weird-ass ghosts, and all of it so close to demons. Ain't that just peachy?" 

According to his brother, he had only been in Hell for a few months, but it had felt like an agonizing lifetime to Dean. He isn't thrilled about the prospect of going anywhere near a Devil's gate. People are dying though, and a hunt is a hunt. 

"All right, let's go see what this is all about," Dean says as he pushes his chair away from the table. "We can handle any demons we come across. Done it before, we can do it again, right, Sam?" Before his brother can answer, Dean grabs the brown jacket hanging from the back of the chair. 

"Dean...." 

As he slides his arms into the sleeves, he can feel Sam watching him. He turns and lifts a brow. 

The expression on Sam's face darkens before he glances out the window. "Never mind." He stands and follows after Dean, but the troubled look remains as they start packing to leave. 

~~~~~~ 

Sam peers over Dean's shoulder as he takes inventory of the weapons in the trunk of the Impala, asking, "We have enough stakes? It might be a trickster." 

"'Might' being the operative word there. If it is, you're also going to need the blood from one of its victims," Bobby says. He smacks Dean in the chest with a brown paper sack. "That's for lunch." 

Opening the bag, Dean peers inside. He checks the contents and finds a peanut butter sandwich, an apple, and some juice. "Oooh! A juice box! Thanks, Mom!" he says in an overly excited voice. 

"And don't you forget it," Bobby replies, glowering up at Dean from beneath the brim of his cap. "The Navajo people do have a trickster god in their divine lineup, To Neinilii. More likely to save folks than kill 'em, though – not your typical trickster – certainly nothing this malicious. His idea of a good joke is to literally rain on your parade." He hands the other bag to Sam. 

Sam accepts the bagged lunch with far more grace than his brother. After ranging through several expressions, he sighs and looks at Dean. "We've been through so much already. There are other hunters who can handle this." 

Pamela walks up behind them, and a surprised yelp escapes Dean as she slaps him on the ass. "Nope. Spirits say Dean here is our knight in shining armor." She chuckles at his response, but the amusement in her eyes fades as she continues, "Since no one was talking to me directly, I put that old spirit board of Bobby's to use. Sometimes when they get spooked," Pamela smiles at her own joke, "they won't speak, but they'll act. Anyway, you have to find the crystal shard, then bring it to where Heaven meets the Earth, before the eclipse. The rain god has it." She slips a note into Dean's palm. 

Dean glances at it; everything she just listed off is neatly written down. 

"Wait." Pamela grabs his hand and scribbles _Castiel_ across the bottom of the paper, then draws a heart with wings around it. "It's related to why you asked me here, though. Your, you know‒" her smile returns, lighting up her face in a far-too-knowing way "‒dreams? His name is Castiel. He's an angel, by the way. The spirits got all skittish after naming him, and I'm not about to try sneaking a closer peek at any of God's _other_ children." 

"Angels don't exist." Dean automatically says, but then he begins to wonder. He certainly feels far more inclined to believe Pamela now than he had prior to his resurrection. "Huh. Is there any lore on angels?" 

"Not a whole lot. Angels appear in most religions in one form or another," Sam replies. "The concept somehow evolved into the fluffy, overly protective guardians we think of today." 

Dean digs around in the supplies, pretending he's already lost interest, but Sam knows him better and continues. "They're pretty esoteric. Supposedly, they existed in rigid castes, and at least four archangels are named: Michael, Lucifer, Raphael, and Gabriel. There's a mention of some troublemakers, but there doesn't seem to be much after- what?" Sam asks when Dean shoots him an abrasive look. "I like to read. Maybe you should try it sometime." 

"Yeah, I'll get right on that. Fit it in somewhere between the angels and demons and apocalyptic prophecies...." Dean slams the trunk shut before turning around and resting against the car. His eyes meet Sam's. 

Sam returns Dean's gaze, exhaling slowly and searching his brother's face for how he should respond. He reaches a tentative hand out to poke Dean in the shoulder. "This seems a little too _coincidental._ " 

"Who's to say it _isn't_ all just a coincidence?" Dean looks back at Pamela. The slight shrug she offers is in no way helpful. "You think we could be so lucky?" he asks. 

"Considering this trickster is also a rain god?" Bobby asks with a snort. "No." 

Sam pulls a sour a face then smiles at Dean. The expression is tense, devoid of all humor. "Nope." 

"Well," Dean says with a clap of his hands. "Then let's go figure out what could possibly be worse than having demons as neighbors." 

~~~~~~ 

After nearly eighteen hours of driving and a night spent in Cheyenne, they are stuck on the side of what barely counts as a road, under the noon sun, somewhere in the southwest part of Colorado. 

"Try again, Sam." 

"Dean," Sam starts, but he just rolls his eyes and twists the key again. The engine doesn't turn over, the ignition isn't clicking – nothing. The Impala is dead. Sam looks around the raised hood to his brother and shakes his head. 

Agitated, Dean throws his hands into the air. "There's nothing wrong with the damn car!" 

The heat is certainly not helping tempers any. 

"Now what?" Dean asks, unable to mask the frustration in his voice. They didn't bring any food or water – he wasn't expecting to break down in the middle of nowhere because he takes excellent care of his baby – and he doesn't really expect to find much in the way of help in the arid wilderness around them. 

"Well," Sam says, and points to the cliffs beyond the scrub. "We can start there." 

A narrow trail of pale smoke drifts upward, disappearing into the puffy white clouds that hang in the seemingly endless blue sky over the nearby cliffs. It's too clean to be natural. "Campers maybe?" Dean asks. 

Sam watches the horizon and carefully says, "We could go find out." 

"What about‒" Dean huffs and gestures at the car. 

"Not a whole lot of options here, Dean." 

"All right. You pack up whatever you think we can carry, and I'll try to find some way to hide her." 

With Sam's help, Dean pushes the Impala off the road and into a copse of scraggly bushes. Dean throws a drop cloth over the vehicle. "We better be able to find my car again after all this nonsense...." 

"So, tell me again why we're here if this is all nonsense?" Sam quips. 

All logic is telling him this is a terrible idea, and Sam seems to agree. Dean doesn't know how to explain that he feels like he's been drawn out here, like Pamela's visit gave him a direction to follow. Dean glowers at his brother and shrugs. "I've been stuck with you overprotective mother hens for months now. I needed to get out and do something anyway." 

They trudge along the hard-packed dirt for over an hour, tripping over rocks and partially buried roots, until they reach an abandoned campsite just inside the shadows cast by the towering rock face. Whoever was here is long gone; the only sign anyone was present at all comes from the wisps of smoke curling out from dying embers placed carefully within a circle of stones. 

An aggravated noise escapes Dean. Despite the neat design, it's never a good idea to leave hot coals behind. "Amateurs." 

"Wait, Dean!" Sam warns as he reaches for his brother. 

Dean sidesteps the arm and strides over to the circle. He stamps out the remnants of the fire and turns back to Sam, waggling his eyebrows. "Only _you_ can prevent forest fires." 

Sam replies with a silent scowl as Dean lifts his foot for one final stomp. 

The moment his foot hits the ground, Dean yelps in surprise and lurches forward as it suddenly softens enough to swallow half his leg. Tossing aside the canister of what little water they had in the car, Dean glares down at his trapped limb. He tries to pull it out with a grunt, and then turns the look on to Sam. "I'm stuck." 

"Amateur," Sam suggests with a smirk. "What part of this well-prepared, yet somehow neglected arrangement screamed not-a-trap to you?" He asks as he steps lightly toward Dean. He pauses just within grabbing distance, chucks his duffel bag of weapons next to their water, and chews on his lip as he examines where Dean's leg disappears into the sand. 

Dean grimaces. "It's hard as concrete. Maybe there's a spell at work here." He doesn't sense the tell-tale tingle of magic, which is why he didn't think anything of walking right on up – despite the fact that Sam knows perfectly well what magic feels like, he's still giving Dean a dirty look. 

Sam rummages through the underbrush until he finds a suitable branch. Dean snatches it away and tries to dig himself out, to no avail. He thrusts the end of the stick at Sam. Sam grabs it, then, straining with the effort, he hauls back with all of his weight. Dean doesn't budge. 

"Great‒" Sam is cut off as the ground beneath him bulges upward suddenly, and he topples toward Dean. He flounders precariously for a second, his arms windmilling wildly, and settles simply for jumping into Dean's arms instead. 

They must look ridiculous, Dean standing on one leg while barely maintaining his hold on his much taller brother, but at least Sam wasn't ensnared by the spell as well. 

"Too heavy. Can't‒" Dean tenses his arms and heaves Sam away. 

The momentum carries Sam too far forward; his knees crack painfully against the ground and his arms fly out to keep him from plowing face first into the dirt. With a groan, he pushes back onto his feet. "Little bit more warning next time?" 

"Maybe next time you shouldn't trip over your gigantic feet," Dean suggests. He wobbles from holding the tiring pose for so long. 

"I didn't tri‒" Sam is interrupted by a slow, steady clap. 

"Sam and Dean Winchester. Nicely handled!" exclaims a short man wearing a blue, beak-shaped wooden mask wreathed by feathers and evergreen branches. Beaded leather thongs adorn his upper arms and wrists. A brightly-colored cloth with geometric patterns is belted around his waist by red leather that is embellished with silver inlays. "You lose points for the initial stupidity of falling for it, but I must say, I forgot how well you two work together." 

Even though the person before him is quite likely responsible for his current predicament, the first words out of Dean's mouth are: "What the hell are you supposed to be?" And predictably, Sam hisses at Dean to shut up, which is probably a good idea since this person does seem to know who they are. 

The mask tilts at a curious angle. "Not too bright, are you? Why didn't you just douse the fire with water?" 

Dean stares dumbly at the container of water resting not too far away. The thought hadn't even crossed his mind. "We're stuck out here," he starts to explain. "Didn't want to waste it." It's not _really_ a lie. Dean is willing to bet they're facing the being they are hunting, and he certainly does look like a trickster. Not too many people running around the desert in that kind of getup. He catches Sam's eye and his brother's nod is just barely perceptible. 

"What are you doing way out here anyway?" Comes the voice from behind the mask – definitely masculine, and smooth as glass with no noticeable accent. 

"We're trying to find someone. To Neinilii." Dean really wishes Bobby had shown them an image of the trickster. 

The guy straightens and asks in a voice laden with suspicion, "Who sent you?" 

Dean snorts. "Nobody. This dude is killing people, so we've come along to mete out some‒” 

"We're looking for a shard," Sam cuts in abruptly, scowling at Dean. "A crystal shard." 

"You're the Righteous Man? No," the mask turns back to Dean. "You are, I see it now." But he rips off the mask. " … _you_ are supposed to stop the apocalypse?" The man rakes a hand through his honey-colored hair and glares at the heavens. "Of course you are. And I thought I had a twisted sense of humor." 

The man snaps his fingers. Sam and Dean grab for each other in an effort to keep upright as the axis of the world suddenly tilts around them, and they find themselves standing before a series of square buildings constructed along and into the side of a cliff. The windows are cold and empty, abandoned by their original owners many centuries before. 

"Didn't we kill you back in that college town?" Dean asks, narrowing his eyes in recognition. He whips around to snatch a stake from the duffel bag and finds nothing. "You left our stuff behind?" Dean sighs. He's not really surprised, but the look of disbelief the trickster shoots at him is totally worth it. 

"Dean," Sam murmurs softly. 

Dean flings a hand at the trickster and declares, "This is just great. Now we have no weapons to‒" 

"Dean," Sam tries again. Wrapping one arm around his brother, Sam cuts Dean off with a hand over his mouth. He leans in close and whispers into Dean's ear. "He is obviously not _just_ a trickster, so maybe we shouldn't _threaten_ him just yet. And what if he has the shard...?" 

The trickster rolls his eyes. "I haven't received this much disrespect since they tried to kick me out of Asgard." He turns and walks off through a stone doorway. "If all you want is the shard, then come on," he says, tossing the words over his shoulder as he disappears into the dark recesses of the building. 

The hunters exchange wary looks and Dean jerks Sam's palm away from his face. 

"We've already killed him once," Dean says, his tone deadpan. 

"Maybe he had a brother?" suggests Sam. 

Dean's eyebrow wings upward. "Asgard?" 

"Like I said," Sam checks the doorway. He crosses his arms and repeats, "he's not just any trickster." 

"Well, there are several _the Tricksters_ out there, but yeah; if he's Loki, that might explain why he's still alive. What's he doing here, though?" 

"Are you coming or not?" The mocking words drift through the open door. "I've got better things to do than cater to lost hunters." 

"This is a bad idea," Dean complains, following Sam's gaze, 

Sam shrugs and heads toward the open door. When Dean doesn't follow, he backs up and drags Dean along. "If he wanted to hurt us, he's had every opportunity to do so." 

"Seriously, Sam?" Dean digs his heels into the ground and glares at his brother. "Trickster." 

"This would be an awfully elaborate setup," Sam admonishes as he pulls harder. 

Dean relinquishes, but he makes Sam haul him along. "Yeah, 'cause Loki is so well known for playing _simple tricks._ " 

Sam sighs, sounding irked. "Quit whining and let's go see what he has to say, at least." 

"This is a bad idea," Dean says again as they make their way through the dim room. It dead-ends at a blank wall, and he spins around to examine the room again, but it's completely empty. "Uhm... hello?" 

Sam furrows his brow and steps toward the wall. "Dean." 

A fine seam runs the length of the wall, and as Sam approaches, it splits apart, spilling bright light around them. Two rectangular stones slide away to reveal a set of stairs that lead up into a huge circular observatory. Panes of frosted glass span the ceiling of the dome, diffusing the remaining sunlight that filters throughout the airy space. 

Set directly in the center of the room is a massive orrery. Hundreds of metallic arms whir and clank tirelessly, moving crystalline balls that glitter in the burnished afternoon light. Some speed around so quickly that they seem to defy the laws of physics, while others are content to loop about in lazy orbits. Upon closer inspection, even smaller versions are distinguishable within the spheres, each with their own set of mechanized rotations. 

Dean's jaw drops at the sight. "Whoa...." 

Sam is too busy regarding the machine to notice much else, his eyes wide and sparkling with awe. His lips work silently around words he can't seem to give voice to. Instead, he settles for a low, impressed whistle. 

"Everything within the heavens is here: suns, moons, stars," explains the trickster. He's now wearing blue jeans, a t-shirt, and a button-up; he's dressed not unlike the Winchesters. "Well, almost everything. Mainly the bits of the galaxy that affect this pale blue dot." He ducks just before an orb has the chance to knock his head from his shoulders. "I was there during that solar eclipse, where the angels fell beyond Heaven's reach. A similar conjunction is approaching, and you'd better have your shard before then, hunter. What's going to happen?" 

Dean watches as the demigod deftly maneuvers through the chaotic system to the far end of the room. It's not chaotic at all. That's the purpose of a machine like this: the oscillations are predictable and pretty accurate. "I don't suppose you could just tell us? Skip the whole guessing game?" 

"The end of the world," the trickster says dramatically. Then, with a nonchalant shrug he adds, "Or the beginning. It's all the same to me. Either way, a big change is coming. Either way, all this pointless fighting stops." 

The sound of Sam clearing his throat draws Dean's attention back to his brother. Though his eyes still roam over the mechanism, Sam has apparently rediscovered his voice. "Eclipses happen often enough. What's so special about this one?" 

The trickster busies himself with rifling through shelves and drawers; apparently he likes to collect things. "It's all in the alignment. They intend to draw the power of the firmament down upon our heads," comes his distracted reply as he pulls out a wooden box. He shakes it, and Dean can hear a tinkling over the sound of turning gears. 

"Found it!" With a smile upon his face, the trickster lifts the box up to show them. He hurries to where they stand, edging along the outermost sweep of the orrery. 

Sam and Dean both step back as the trickster approaches. He chuckles, points to the floor, and the Winchesters find themselves suddenly seated where indicated. 

"You want a shard?" he asks and upends the contents onto the floor. Crystals scatter across the hard stone. "The question is: when you figure out which is the right one, what do you do with it? You heal the damn crystal, that's what." 

"Actually, the question is: which is the right one?" Dean snarks, leveling a look at the trickster. "Though, I'd settle for your name." 

A frown mars the trickster's face as he kneels down to study the shards. He pulls three fragments away, then snaps his fingers. The box and the other crystals instantly disappear. "It's one of these three, but I'm not telling you my name. I know what hunters do with names." A disturbingly sly smile spreads across his face, and he flops down to watch. "There is still so much to learn, and you are almost out of time." 

~~~~~~ 

They can't leave. Sam tried walking out only to find himself walking back in through the same door. That makes Dean laugh, at least until he remembers where they are and who is holding them captive. Though the trickster does offer them dinner: some kind of spiced stew with corn and, of all things, apple pie. 

By the time night has fallen, Dean is no closer to picking out the correct shard. He flicks each one, listens to the tone, and gets nothing new. They all sound like ringing crystal to him. 

The trickster is no help either, which is not entirely true – there is no light source in the observatory, so he is graciously blowing through the circle of his thumb and index finger and producing phosphorescent bubbles. The fragile spheres float along unseen air currents for quite some time before gravity destabilizes the surface tension and the magic dissipates entirely. 

A bubble drifts into Dean's line of sight; he doesn't really see it, but his eyes subconsciously follow its path as he thinks. Sam leans over to pop it. 

"I'm not responsible for those deaths," the trickster says, breaking the silence. He creates another bubble and gently waves it away. "The demons have been kidnapping people, including members of the tribes around here, to create an army of shades. They're getting stronger as the eclipse approaches and were able to slip past my defenses." 

"Shades? You mean like spirits from the Greek underworld?" asks Sam. 

The trickster becomes distant, thoughtful. "Kind of, but more like a cross between a daeva – I know you've run into those‒" Sam narrows his eyes at the mention of their past "‒and a ghost. Underworld spirits are less... spiteful. These demons have figured out how to strip the light from human souls." 

"And you're sticking around to help the Navajo fight off demons... as one of their deities?" 

When the trickster nods his head, Sam continues, "aren't you a little, uh-" he stops, casting about for the right word. 

"Short to be To Neinilii?" the trickster supplies with a delighted laugh. "That's what the vikings used to say." As soon as the words slip out, his eyes widen then flick back and forth between Sam and Dean. 

Dean doesn't look up from his task. "Hah! Told you." 

Sam shoves at his brother. "My idea first." He glances up at the trickster and asks, "Then, you're Loki? Kind of far from home...." 

"Eh, I got bored. Wanted to see the sights. The people around here have a far more interesting perspective on the world. More respect for Tricksters. You should hear their Creation story." 

Dean glances up and raises a brow. "Pretty sure you said they _kicked you out_ of Asgard earlier." 

Loki rolls his shoulder in the most apathetic shrug Dean has ever seen. "Same thing." 

"Shouldn't you be concentrating on those crystals, Dean?" Loki reminds the hunter. 

Scrubbing a hand across his face, Dean sighs and presses his palms into the floor behind him. "I've tried everything I can think of, here." 

"Here, let me‒" 

Dean recognizes the centered expression on Sam's face, and his fingers fly out, tightly encircling Sam's wrist and keeping him from his intended target. "Do _not_ use your powers. Not for this, not ever." 

"Please, Just‒" Sam pleads. He closes his eyes and inhales in order to compose himself. "‒trust me." 

With his peripheral vision, Dean sees Loki shift as he watches their exchange with interest. The trickster doesn't seem surprised in the slightest; he even smiles as though he's pleased with where this is headed. "What aren't you telling us?" 

Loki nods at the taller hunter. "Why not let Sammy try? You're certainly not getting anywhere." 

Breathing out his frustration, Dean pushes his free hand through his hair and glowers at Sam. Pressing his lips into an adamant line, Sam stares back. "Fine," Dean finally agrees, releasing his grip. It's Sam's choice; Dean doesn't have to like it, so he keeps any further comments to himself. 

As he extends his palm out over the crystals, Sam glances toward Dean just to make sure. Dean trades it for one of indifference, but Sam knows better, and the corners of his lips twitch with gratitude. 

Dean can tell when his brother's attention truly shifts away from him by the way Sam's brows knit together. 

Whatever Sam is doing produces a delicate tinkling sound as the crystals begin to rattle in place. His face pinches up as he focuses, and the sound ratchets into a hum that sets Dean's teeth on edge. The tones become more pronounced as the central shard begins to glimmer with an inner light. It resonates at a slightly different frequency, and Dean claps his hands over his ears as the ringing becomes piercing and painful. 

"Sam?" he hollers, insistent over the noise. 

When blood starts to drip from his brother's nose, Dean decides the experiment has failed. He scrabbles toward Sam, and the moment he touches the other hunter, two of the shards shatter. Sam immediately relaxes, his hand lifting to staunch the blood flowing freely down his face. 

"Congratulations, boys," Loki says, beaming as he rises to his feet. "You've got your shard. Unfortunately, you have to run now because we're about to have company!" 

Dean grabs the shard and tugs at Sam's elbow just as the windows explode and they're pelted with pieces of glass. Sam takes a second to get his bearings, and he stumbles to his feet, still dizzy from using his powers. 

Black smoke floods the room and coalesces into a horde of human-shaped forms, but Loki holds both hands up and shoves at the air. The shadows nearest him freeze, and he tosses a hurried "Go!" over his shoulder as more of the shades force their way around their immobilized brethren. 

Dean glances around for a way out but it's Sam who points to what looks like a door above the platform extending along the upper portion of the room. There seems to be no stairwell leading up – Loki probably just teleports up there when he feels like it, Dean assumes – and the shadows are swarming the trickster, so Dean decides to take the obvious route: up and over the orrery. 

As he clamps down on his panic, Dean pushes Sam onward. They navigate through and around the spinning metal and glass until one of the larger arms sweeps toward them. About the same time, the shades finally overwhelm Loki and head straight for the brothers. 

Sam clambers onto the sturdy truss as it swings into an upward arc. Tightening his thighs around the metal for support, he then turns and hauls Dean up with him. As they work their way toward the apex of the machine, Sam and Dean swap places, pushing and pulling each other along through the ever-rotating maze until they manage to hitch a ride on a bar curving toward the balcony. 

The trickster disappears beneath the shifting figures, dragged down to the floor by clutching hands, but the shades are suddenly knocked through the air, and Loki stands and shakes himself like a wet dog. The shadows skritch at an invisible barrier that extends a good ten feet around the trickster, trying to claw their way back to him, but Loki just smiles at them. 

The snap of fingers sounds through the air like an exploding firecracker. The whine of gears grinding to a halt assaults Dean's ears, and he and Sam come to a stop just next to the balcony. 

The machine lurches against the force keeping it from advancing. The brothers climb over the railing just as smoke billows out from somewhere in the heart of the floor beneath them. Vibrations roll through the room, and both he and Sam peer expectantly over the banister at Loki. 

Loki glances at the shades that are now attempting to follow the hunters. When he looks back, Dean can make out the unnatural liquid-amber color of the trickster's irises despite the distance between them. 

"I said go!" Loki yells at them, adding an impatient jerk of his head. 

Sam gives pause. "But...." 

"Sam. He's a freaking Norse deity pretending to be a Navajo trickster; I think he can handle a few shadows," Dean says, failing to keep the urgency out of his voice. 

As Sam glances back, Loki winks impishly and blows him a kiss. 

"Umm‒" 

"Yeah, okay, Lover Boy, let's go!" Dean turns on his heel, shoves the door open, and drags Sam from the observatory and onto a rocky walkway. 

The night air is still hot, but it's also dank in a way deserts should not be. Dean quickly picks his way along the broken path, slipping every now and then on the clammy stone. As he checks for Sam over his shoulder, Dean loses his footing. Sam grabs at him, but gravity pulls them both over and they go crashing the rest of the way down the steep hill. 

They land in a tangle of arms and legs just as the slope begins to even out. Dean groans, and when his head finally stops spinning, he begins cataloguing his injuries. 

Sam grunts as he tries to sit up. He has a cut above his eye that bleeds profusely, and he cradles his wrist to his chest, but still he manages to ask, "Dean? You okay?" 

Dean's lip feels wet so he licks at it; it stings and tastes like copper. He also feels bruised from head to toe, but "yeah, I think so." His wrist may also be twisted; it twinges something awful as he rolls over. "You?" 

Hissing the pain out through his teeth, Sam gingerly checks his ankle and winces. "I don't _think_ it's broken." He wipes the blood from his face; at least his wounds are starting to clot. 

"We can't stick around here. Those things are likely to come after us," says Dean. As he glances up, the observatory explodes into flames. He scuttles over to Sam as debris rains down upon them; and, leaning upon each other for support, they limp as quickly as they can and into the cover of the nearby trees. 

~~~~~~ The trees turn out to be the edge of a really strange jungle. A very, very swampy jungle – there are more areas than not where the water table seems to rest a few inches above the ground. 

The flora and fauna aren't remotely terrestrial. Thorny tree trunks rise into the yellow sky, ending in bunches of evergreen needles as long as palm leaves and laden with pine cones the size of pineapples. Strange noises, caws and hoots and whistles, sound from the branches around them. Insects as long as Dean's forearm skitter about as he and Sam pass by, while birds the length of his little finger flit fearlessly about the hunters' faces. 

"I don't think we're in Kansas anymore," Dean huffs as he sits on a fallen log. Sweat drips uncomfortably down his face and back in the stifling humidity. They've been wandering around aimlessly for hours. 

"Colorado," corrects Sam, earning him a glower from his older brother. Sam limps over and flops down as well. 

Dean's eyes sweep along the canopy above them. "You think this is something the trickster is doing?" 

"I don't‒" The look on Sam's face is uncertain, but he shakes his head. "What would be the point?" 

"Trickster...?" Dean suggests for the umpteenth time, but he sighs and lets it drop. With little else to do, he pulls out the shard and traces a finger along the clean planes of the crystal. It's about eight inches long, ever so slightly violet, and fractured. The light passing through it doubles the image of his palm as he holds it. He wonders just how hard the thing is. "What am I supposed to do with this, anyway?" he asks, pressing it into the trunk and dragging it across the rough bark. It leaves behind an impressive furrow. 

The shard lights up, and from within the sharp edges appears the image of a fair-haired man standing beside a large, brightly glowing crystal. The man stabs at it with a silver dagger-like weapon, causing lines to spiderweb from the inside out. 

"Holy‒" Dean exclaims. 

Sam leans closer, peering curiously at the shard. "What?" 

"You didn't see that?" Dean asks, incredulous. 

Sam's eyes slide up to meet Dean's. "...no? What happened?" 

"Nothing." Dean shoves the shard back into his pocket and shakes his head to rid himself of the image. He clears his throat. "It was probably nothing. Maybe the heat is finally getting to me." 

A twig snaps behind them, and in the suddenly silent forest, the noise cracks like thunder. 

Sam and Dean freeze in an instant, and they scan the dense foliage for signs of danger. Sam rises slowly, nudging his brother carefully before tossing his head in the direction the sound came from. Dean falls in behind him, and they quickly and quietly seek out the source. 

The younger hunter stops and signals for Dean to look down. Pressed into the loamy ground is the imprint of a man's dress shoe; although, it's already disappearing back into the bog as water fills the depression. 

Dean checks behind him, and sure enough, his and Sam's tracks are still recognizable as tracks despite attempts by the swamp to erase them, so there should be more proof that someone was here. He raps the back of his knuckles against Sam's arm, urging his brother onward. 

Other than an animal scrambling out of their way, the place remains eerily quiet. 

Sam abruptly stops. The sunlight filtering through the trees plays across his face as he turns to listen. Dean pauses, trying to locate whatever has captured his brother's attention. 

There's a subtle, yet familiar charge in the air, one that Dean has no immediate frame of reference for. He _knows_ it, but the memory plays along the edges of his thoughts like he just woke up and is chasing after a dream. 

The space before him shifts, and the hunter takes a subconscious step back as he finds himself abruptly confronted by an avid pair of blue eyes. As he trips over his own feet, the owner of those eyes reaches out to steady Dean – and holy crap! The hand around his bicep is like an iron band – there is _nothing_ subtle about the way his bones threaten to liquefy at the touch. Dean feels likes he's standing at the epicenter of an earthquake. 

"Hello, Dean." 

The missing piece of his life falls back into place. 

"Cas..." Dean answers weakly, immediately recognizing the angel as his knees start to give out. He vaguely hears the alarmed shout from Sam and manages to get out, "S'ok, Sam," just before his vision is crowded out by a surge of memories. 

_Smoke fills his nose as Dad shoves Sam into his arms, yelling, "Take your brother outside as fast as you can and don't look back! Now, Dean, go!" And so he does. Later, Bobby joins them as the firefighters try to put the flames out, but Mom and Dad are gone–_

Bobby raises them as his own, teaches them what and how to hunt– 

There is an angle the demons had been working, advancing some plan that ultimately makes little sense to either of the Winchesters, but it had involved feeding demon blood to infants of unsuspecting families– 

They find the demon responsible for killing Mom and Dad. His name is Azazel, and he explains how he stood over Sam's cradle and bled into his tiny mouth, how he killed their parents for interrupting– 

It's clear that Sam has acquired psychic powers from his exposure to the demon's blood, and now Azazel and Meg are after them– 

"I’m gonna take you care of you. I’ve got you. That’s my job, right? Watch out for my pain-in-the-ass little brother? Sam...?" He pleads, but Sam's body is empty; Sam is dead– 

Killing Azazel doesn't make him feel any better, and it doesn't bring Sam back– 

He barely hears the offer from the crossroads demon, but he accepts it anyway. Regardless of whom the demon is riding around in, it still stinks of lies and sulphur. He gags as he leans in to seal the deal– 

Lilith is such a precious little creepy thing with bouncing curls of gold. She laughs as she releases the hell-hound, and the last thing he sees is Sam embracing him before he's falling through the Earth– 

He wakes up strapped to a cold metal table. A tall, thin man leans over him, a grin splitting the cruel face above him. "Dean Winchester, welcome to Hell. I'm Alastair and I will be your host for the rest of eternity," comes the malicious voice, the formality a false and mocking gesture. The blade cuts into his flesh and he screams– 

He does the slicing now, separating muscle from bone, and he revels in how they shriek– 

Something is coming; a light speeds toward him from beyond the horizon and already he can feel the warmth emanating from whatever it is. Dropping the knife, he takes a step back– 

–and collapses into the mud, gasping. 

"Dean!" Sam cries out, but he stays put, sizing up the creature standing over his brother. 

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Dean reassures. "Well, now I'm sitting in mud and it's really gross, but whatever." He glowers balefully at the muck soaking into his pants before he redirects his glare at Castiel. "What the hell was that?" 

"I am sorry for dropping you. I did not wish to find out if your eyes would burn out of your skull from a memory." 

Dean's mouth drops open; he doesn't quite know how he should respond. "You saw all that?" 

Castiel nods. "We were dream-walking and you were about to see my true form." 

Dean shuts his mouth, realizing just how useless sitting around with a dumbfounded expression plastered onto his face is. Then he opens it again to ask, "That going to happen whenever we touch?" His mind goes wandering off on it's own about the possible implications of his question, so Dean snaps his mouth shut once more. 

Every part of him is tingling from the touch, and the emptiness from before seems like a distant thought. Castiel is staring at him, fascinated – like he can see straight into Dean's soul – and the hunter feels far too open and exposed when the angel offers him a hand up. 

Dean scowls suspiciously at the upturned palm. His eyes travel along the beige sleeve of the trench coat and back to Castiel's face.The angel is wearing a white shirt, black slacks and jacket, and the tie knotted haphazardly around his neck is a darker shade of blue than his eyes. "What are you supposed to be, a holy tax accountant?" 

"I was told... these clothes would help me blend in," Castiel supplies, his brow furrowed. 

Dean snorts but he moves on to more important things. "You go strolling through people's dreams often?" 

"No, never. Only when the human is asleep," Castiel says, his tone almost reticent. "Dean, that should not have happened. It won't happen again." 

"Well, then. Okay," the hunter says as he reaches out slowly and accepts the help. He flinches as Castiel's hand wraps around his, but the angel's fingers are warm, dry, and normal except for the power that Dean can feel humming just beneath the skin. 

When he finds himself standing face-to-face with Castiel once more, Dean blames the fluttering in his stomach on the rather sudden change in his position; he was pulled upright so easily, as if he weighed nothing. The feeling persists as they continue to gaze at each other. 

Sam clears his throat. "Um, guys?" 

"What?" Dean answers absently. "Oh," he says eloquently and glances at Sam, then back to Castiel. "Oh, right." He pulls his hand free. "Cas, this is my brother, Sam." 

"I know," Cas affirms. 

Dean ignores the reply and gestures to the angel. "Sam, this is Castiel." 

"So I gathered," Sam's face is unreadable as he looks back and forth between Dean and Castiel. His attention settles upon the latter. "Hi, and thank you for rescuing my brother from Hell." 

Castiel inclines his head, accepting the gratitude. 

"Yeah, so about that. Why would an angel save me from Hell?" Dean asks. 

"You are a part of a much bigger picture. I could not allow this world to be devastated again‒" for a split second Castiel's eyes cast down to the ground "‒but, I should not even be walking the Earth." 

Dean bristles. "What do you mean?" 

"No angel has left Heaven in thousands of years. We were forbidden to interfere after the archangels...." Castiel tears his gaze away, clearly uncomfortable with where the conversation is going. 

"Cas?" Dean shifts, leaning sideways until he catches Castiel's shuttered gaze with his own questing eyes. "Not that we don't appreciate it and all, but why are you helping us?" 

"You two have-" Castiel starts, apparently failing to find the right words so he tries again. "This fight was not started by humanity. The responsibility of saving the world shouldn't rest upon your shoulders." 

Dean blinks; he's not really sure what point Castiel is trying to make. "Okay, and?" 

"He shouldn't be able to make decisions like that," Sam explains. 

Dean quirks a brow. 

"Seriously, Dean. Read on occasion," Sam says as he rubs a hand across his face. "Angels were created to obey. They don't have free will like we do." 

"The last angels who disobeyed were punished‒" 

"I thought you said there wasn't much lore on angels, Sam," Dean says, but he turns and claps Castiel on the shoulder. "Since we all seem to be on the same page regarding the bad guys, surely you don't have anything to worry about. Now, how about we go stop the apocalypse?" 

Sam joins Castiel in frowning at Dean, but the older hunter shrugs at them. "Which way do we go?" 

"The doorway to your world is atop that," Castiel says, pointing toward a white mountain in the distance which seems to appear from out of nowhere, rising out from the middle of the trees. "It is the only way I know how to get out of this world." 

Dean hadn't noticed the mountain before, but he can't claim to be surprised after traipsing through the last few environments. 

"So," Sam trails off as he turns back to face Castiel. "Are we still on Earth, or...?” 

Castiel tilts his head, not comprehending the question, but he responds with a clipped, "Yes." His eyes dart out across the landscape before returning to the taller hunter. "Technically, yes." 

Sam's face screws up in thought as he tries to process that, and a laugh escapes from Dean. "Like in _Sliders_?" 

Castiel frowns. "I don't know what that means." 

"It's a television show about alternate universes." 

"Oh. No, we're not in another universe." 

"It's a– never mind, Cas,” Dean sighs. 

Sam folds his arms across his chest. "How can this possibly be Earth?" 

“My brother brought you into Nihaltsoh – the Yellow World–" Castiel stops when he notices the blank looks upon the Winchester's faces and sighs. "The third world from which the Navajo were born. They are now in the White World." 

Dean rolls his eyes. "Now that _that_ is settled‒" 

Castiel shrugs, adding, "It's not unlike how Heaven, Hell, and the Earth are connected. In a way‒" 

Holding a hand up, Sam interrupts, "Wait, you and Loki are brothers?" 

"Gabriel," corrects Castiel, "but he is called Loki in some cultures." 

Dean presses his hands to his face, feeling a little overwhelmed. "And he is a...?" 

"He's an archangel and much stronger than I am," Castiel says, nodding to himself as he explains. "He can enter and leave this place far more easily. If he brought me here to find you, I can only assume something has happened to him." 

"We were attacked by those shade things," Dean replies. 

Sam adds rather dejectedly, "We escaped, but Lo‒ Gabriel stayed behind, I guess to give us a chance." 

The angel considers this; then, without warning, he plants his palms to their chests. 

"What the‒" Dean squawks, but fire races along his ribs leaving him gasping at the sharp, bright pain. 

Sam wraps his arms around himself and eyes Castiel suspiciously. "What the Hell did you just do to us?" 

"I carved sigils into your rib cages." 

Dean uncurls from his own protective position to scowl at the angel. "Why?" 

"The spell will help hide you from prying eyes." 

"What do you mean?" Dean asks, shivering with unease as he glances around the trees. 

"How do you think the shades found Gabriel?" Castiel asks, also glancing around. "We should get going." 

~~~~~~ 

The throng of shades drag Gabriel through the dark corridors to what appears to be a laboratory – he lets them, curious to see firsthand what really is going down. 

Theatrics are nothing new to him. Gabriel understands the need for them, and as a trickster, he frequently makes use of them. Looking around though, this is sheer arrogance. 

One wall is lined with neatly organized tomes, medical and magical, written in various languages. There's an old lawyer's cabinet with meticulously labeled drawers beside a workbench littered with experiments of one kind or another. Gabriel chooses not to examine those too closely since the place smacks of Alastair, but he does eye the unusual implements placed around the metal chair placed in the far side of the room with caution. The aura of the black spells set upon them has settled even into the stones, and only an act of God could cleanse this place. 

He can't sense the demon anywhere nearby‒ 

"I thought you were dead, Gabriel." comes a voice from just beyond the dim light that spills into the hallway. "Turns out you were simply hiding like a coward." 

Gabriel knows his brother's voice and recognizes Lucifer's power. He nods at the shades standing watch. "I was starting to wonder if you thought so little of me‒" 

With a wave of Lucifer's hand the shades disappear, and Gabriel shoots him a menacing glare. 

"Oh, knock it off. We both know you could've escaped if you had any desire to do so." Lucifer steps into the room, his fingers steeple together as he angles his head to the side. "Which raises the question: why are you here?" 

Gabriel breaks eye contact, refusing to be taken in by the 'innocent and curious' act; and he certainly doesn't want to know what conclusions Lucifer has managed to jump to. He had not intended to get involved. He had kept the shard for his own reasons. 

When Castiel smashed through the Gates of Heaven, defying the orders of God Himself – not that Gabriel could cast stones in that regard – to save Dean Winchester from Hell? What their Father had been thinking when He'd created Castiel, Gabriel can't begin to imagine; the Little Angel Who Could has changed everything. 

"You've found a reason to finally join the fight," Lucifer says, his voice falling flat. Then, his face twists into a ferocious mask and he snarls, "What could possibly-" 

"Nothing _you_ would understand," Gabriel interrupts, not wanting to get into this particular argument. 

Lucifer's eyes narrow but he leaves it alone, instead asking, "Where are they?" 

Gabriel just shrugs. Both Castiel and the Winchesters have a habit of being unpredictable, so he is mostly telling the truth when he says, "You know as much as I do." 

"Right." Lucifer peers at him, watching too closely for comfort, but he eventually sighs and calls out, "Meg. Lilith." 

The two demons materialize beside Lucifer, stepping before him like shields yet turning their backs on Gabriel as though he poses no threat. When Gabriel rolls his eyes, Lilith giggles and casts an inquisitive look over her shoulder, acting very much like the eight-year-old human girl she really isn't until Lucifer calls her attention back. 

"Send out your little pets, Lilith. Search by land, water, and sky if you must." 

"Yes, Father," she replies, obedient. 

Confused, Gabriel mouths _Father?_

Lucifer waves it off, then fondly tucks a loose strand of her hair back into place and chucks her under the chin before turning to Meg. "Take reinforcements, and as soon as they are found, _bring them to me._ Be careful. The humans are accompanied by another angel." 

Gabriel's eyes snap back to meet Lucifer's. 

Meg nods and vanishes while Lilith turns to wave at Gabriel before gleefully skipping out of the laboratory. 

"Surely, you didn't think I assumed it was you who freed Dean Winchester from Hell?" Lucifer asks. He smirks then snaps his fingers when Gabriel takes a threatening step forward. 

Fire springs to life, racing around in broad arcs and forcing Gabriel back until he's confined within a ring of holy flames. 

"Alistair, keep an eye on him," Lucifer orders. Alistair appears from wherever he'd been hiding and, edging around the flickering flames to glare at the archangel. "We wouldn't want Gabriel to go sneaking off to save anyone from our _evil clutches._ " 

Gabriel really should have seen that coming.... 

~~~~~~ 

Castiel leads the way, scouting for trouble as Sam and Dean make their way after as quickly as can afford to with the injuries they have sustained. 

"Are you sure we can trust him?" Sam asks quietly the next time Castiel flits off. 

"Asks the guy with faith that _Loki_ has good intentions...." Dean thinks the question over. Breaking from the ranks of Heaven to yank Dean out of Hell; they had means and opportunity aplenty, but not much in the motive department beyond some fanciful words. He shouldn't trust Castiel, and it scares him more than a little that Dean feels he can with absolute conviction. "Yes." 

Castiel brings them to a broad river. Sam steps right up to where the water laps at the bank, looking first to the left and then the right, then back at Dean with confusion marring his features. 

As far as Dean can tell, the physics of this place are normal so the way the river seems to warp around the bend from one side, then flow straight up the side of the mountain that reaches up beyond the clouds and into the sky must be some kind of optical illusion. 

"There," Castiel replies, indicating upstream. "We need to take the raft." 

There is a pile of timber that does indeed appear to be vaguely raft-shaped sitting half on the grassy bank. As they approach, Dean fails to see how the wreck could possibly float, much less carry the weight of three grown men. The branches are barely woven together and loosely lashed to decomposing logs. "You have got to be kidding me." 

"It's safe," Castiel says as he pushes the raft into the water and steps gingerly into the center. 

With a shrug, Sam follows. The flimsy vessel sinks further into the water as its two occupants redistribute their weight. 

"I suggest that you do not fall in," Castiel warns as Dean joins them. 

"That is _just_ what I needed to hear," Dean mutters as he studies the swiftly running currents. He tenses up as Castiel eases the raft away from the shore. 

It's not long before Dean's curiosity gets to him. "Hey, Cas, why do we need to stay out of the river, anyway?" 

"The creatures living in it can and will eat you." 

"Oh." Dean draws his arms closer. "The actual water won't hurt us, though?" 

"It's just water, Dean." Castiel levels a look at the hunter. Suddenly, he turns his head as though he hears something and says, "I'll be right back." 

Then he disappears. 

~~~~~~ 

Castiel waits patiently where the two rivers of the realm intersect. A woven basket drifts lazily down one river. When it crosses the other, he uses the currents to his advantage and wills the bundle toward him. 

The basket lands gently on the bank, and Castiel crouches down to peer inside. 

A doll made of white, nacreous shell and swaddled in a brightly coloured blanket blinks up at him. When she yawns, the light catches her iridescent cheeks, and the beads threaded into her long coarse, black hair clack together. 

The moment he pulls the bassinet from the river, the little doll opens her mouth and wails like children tend to do when their sleep is interrupted. The noise is anything but human though, sounding more like metal scraping against metal. As if in response, thunder rumbles far off in the distance and rain begins to fall from the nearly cloudless sky. 

~~~~~~ 

The drizzle turns into a downpour just as Castiel reappears. 

"What the‒" Sam starts, but his words are lost to the shriek stemming from whatever is kicking the blankets around in the basket Castiel holds. 

Dean gathers the bundle to him with an annoyed sigh. The screeching stops as he clears the blanket away from the child's face and lets her suck on his finger. He rocks gently back and forth and says, "Cas, this is a strange looking baby and all, but... why do you have a baby?" 

"She is the child of the Water Creature‒" 

"Please, _please_ tell me you didn't kidnap the kid of some big bad‒" 

"Hey," Sam breaks in. He points back to the shore. "That can't be good." 

The water is rising, and it continues to swell until the river breaches the bank, surging rapidly past the grass and into the forest. After several minutes, they are level with lower branches of the trees and there seems to be no end to the water. 

Not wanting to be dislodged by anything unexpected, Dean sits down and Sam joins him. Though the raft remains strictly on course, Dean nervously glances up at Castiel. "I don't care where we are, this isn't normal. It's like the whole world is flooding." 

"This is the quickest way out. Once the water level rises above the mountains, it will be deep enough for the creature to come retrieve the child," Castiel explains. 

"Well, that's just _great_ ," Dean says with obvious disbelief as he tries to wrap his head around the size of such a creature. He gives up and closes his eyes, asking, "So we just, what, wait for the place to fill with water?" 

They are drifting quickly past the tops of the tallest trees now, water stretching in all directions as far as the eye can see. The mountain seems so much smaller and further away than before. 

"Yes." 

"Okay, then, this place is fucking weird," Dean mutters, his eyes spanning the distance between them and the mountain-turned-island. “So, we have some spare time‒" 

A shadow passes over them, cast from high above. Silhouetted against the cloudless yellow sky, a large bird glides easily along the draughts of air keeping it aloft, seldomly flapping its wide wings. 

"What the‒" Dean starts but Castiel shushes him. 

"It's a minka bird." 

"What's a‒" he falls silent under Castiel's obvious irritation. 

"Keep quiet. They're looking for you two." 

"You think?" Dean snorts – quietly. 

Sam leans over to whisper into Dean's ear. "They're death omens in aboriginal lore." 

Glancing skyward again, Dean whispers back, "Going to have to revoke your library card when we get back." 

Castiel thrusts his hand out and concentrates. The dark shape wavers briefly before plunging through the air with a shriek and crashing into the water with a mighty splash. It's too far away to make out any detail as it struggles to keep its head above the water. Then, fins and teeth erupt from the water and the bird is gone from view. 

Dean stares agog at the now vacant space. "Do you think it saw us?" 

Castiel's jaw tenses. "I don't know." 

Sam and Dean exchange nervous glances. 

~~~~~~ 

The mountain is little more than a house-sized boulder protruding from the water by the time they reach it, though Dean can't tell how much time has passed since the sun is still in the same place. 

Castiel reaches for the child. She's been mostly quiet for the duration of the trip, occasionally cooing at Dean for attention, and he is reluctant to hand her back. He does when Castiel stares him down and explains, "She needs to be returned to her parent." 

"Or we'll get thrashed by something bigger than the mountain," Sam adds. Then, he raises a brow. "Since when could you take care of infants?" 

"I helped raise you, didn't I? And for the record, you were far more difficult," Dean says with a shrug, watching as Castiel places her back into the basket and sets it adrift. 

As she floats out of sight, the rain finally comes to a stop, and Castiel says, "Don't worry, Dean. She's home now." 

Dean doesn't reply, but the water is already receding from the mountain when he turns to examine the sheer face of rock before them. There's no direct route up, and climbing doesn't seem to be a viable option. "How do we get up?" 

Castiel contemplates the problem, then he grabs each man by the shoulder and they find themselves standing on the mountain next to a gate made of reeds that hangs from nothing in the middle of the air. 

Dean whirls around. Castiel is standing right behind him, and he startles in return. "You couldn't do that earlier?" 

"It takes more strength than I have to bend time and space enough to fly you both more than a very short distance." 

"That's helpful," Dean mutters. 

"In case you haven't noticed‒" and Dean is proud to hear the note of sarcasm in Castiel's voice "‒I've been more than helpful." 

"I don't suppose you can dry us off‒ alright, alright, I'm sorry don't give me that look," Dean says, turning his attention to the gate. He walks around it and finds no way to get through. "So, how do we open this thing?" 

"You have to blow on it," Castiel informs him with a perfectly straight face. 

Dean is confused. "Uh, what do you mean?" 

"You pucker your lips together and blow air out between them," says Castiel, unfazed. 

"I know how to blow‒" 

Sam claps a hand to his mouth, gripping his jaw to keep from cracking up. He fails miserably, and Castiel eyes him with mild concern at the noise he makes as he snickers into his palm. After he manages to contain himself, Sam straightens. "Oh, y'all are too cute." 

"Yeah, well how 'bout you blo‒" 

"Okay.... I'm sure the universe will stand still while you get whatever _this_ is out of your system, Dean." 

"Why do _I_ have to blow on the door?" 

Castiel levels a disappointed look at him. "Dean, we have little over twelve hours until the eclipse begins." 

"All right, all right, don't get your halo in a twist," Dean mutters and leans forward. He pulls away once more and scowls at Castiel. "I just..." he finishes the question with a gesture toward the gate. 

"Yes." 

"Why?" 

"I don't know," Castiel replies. 

"Then how do you know what‒" 

"Oh, for the love of..." Sam interrupts, shoves Dean out of the way, then blows on the gate. 

There's a pop as the latch unlocks, and then the gate swings open on invisible hinges. A dark two-dimensional rectangle hangs in the middle of the air. Night has fallen on the other side. 

Pivoting to face Dean and Castiel, Sam grins with smug satisfaction. "Now, was that so ha‒" 

A hand grabs Sam from behind, wrapping around his neck and dragging him backward through the opening. Dean and Castiel call frantically after him, but Dean doesn't bother waiting for an answer before he's chasing after his brother with Castiel on his heels. 

They find Sam kneeling on the ground, forced there by the fingers squeezing his throat. The hand belongs to a petite brunette wearing a leather jacket, blue jeans, and heeled boots. Her eyes flick an unearthly white the moment her eyes land on Castiel. "Hello, boys." 

"Meg," Dean acknowledges dispassionately, and she responds by pulling her red lips pull into the satisfied smirk she had last worn while standing over Sam's corpse. Dean fights to keep from leaping across the space between them to rip the heart from her chest. He resolves the urge by channeling his aggression into a moderately less suicidal outlet. "Didn't we kill you already?" 

"Seems to be a lot of that going around," Sam croaks, his voice barely scraping past compressed vocal cords. 

"Takes just a bit more than that to kill my kind," Meg says as she crouches beside Sam. Leaning in close to him, she presses her face to Sam's and appraises Dean, her eyes flicking over him from head to toe. 

"Really, so how's Azazel doing these days?" 

Meg's smile wavers. "You have something I want, Dean," she says, spitting his name out as though it tastes bad. 

Dean crosses his arms over his chest, over where the shard rests in the inner pocket of his jacket. The door they came through is gone, leaving them with no viable escape route. They are surrounded by shades on all sides, and even with Castiel as backup, he doesn't think they can fight their way out of this. 

"You're not getting the shard, Meg, but I promise if you let Sam go and leave with your goons now, Feathers here won't zap you like the pests you are." He can feel Castiel's gaze boring into him from behind, but the angel doesn't contradict the threat. 

Castiel raises a hand, and his palm begins to glow brightly like the filament of a bulb. 

"I don't think so. Your angel might be able to take out some of my shades, but certainly not all of them. Now, hand it over or I break Sam's neck," she snarls as she rises to her feet, hauling Sam up with her. 

A look passes over Sam's face, and for a moment Dean is unable to make heads or tails of it as they watch each other. Then, Sam flicks his attention to Castiel and nods his head, and Dean gets it: his brother is accepting this as his fate. 

"No, wait–" the words rush from Dean, but Castiel's hand lands on his shoulder, and they disappear to the sound of Meg's enraged shriek. 

~~~~~~ 

The spots from being winged away so unexpectedly are still dancing across his vision when he wheels around to face Castiel. "Take me back!" 

"No." 

"Fine. I'll find Sam myself." Dean turns on his heel. Before his foot hits the ground, Castiel grabs him by the shoulder. 

"You still have the shard‒" 

"I wish I'd never heard of this stupid thing," he declares, pulling the shard from his pocket and hurling it into the night. 

"–and they will keep Sam – alive – to dissuade you from coming after them," Castiel finishes. 

"Oh." Dean's knees buckle and he lands in a heap on the ground. He scrubs a hand wearily down his face. After traveling across several planes of existence over the last few days without food or sleep, only to have Sam taken off by damn monsters prophesied to end the world, Dean is physically and emotionally drained. "Well, crap." 

"I know where it is," Castiel replies and vanishes. When he reappears, he drops down beside Dean and places the piece of crystal in his hand. Instead of letting go, Castiel laces their fingers together. 

Feeling his face flush, Dean studies their entwined hands and almost pulls away. Somehow Castiel's touch, his presence, calms Dean and fills him with the strength to ward off the looming sense of desperation, how hopeless the tasks he's been given really are. 

Must be an angel thing; he leans against Castiel, seeking comfort. 

"Wait, can you sense this thing?" Dean asks, lifting the shard and both their hands. 

"Yes." 

"Gabriel couldn't‒" A snort from Castiel cuts him off short. Dean catches Castiel smiling faintly, his usual seriousness giving way to amusement. 

"Yes, he can," Castiel chuckles. "He was 'messing around' with you." 

Dean grumbles under his breath. "Cas, your brother is kind of a jerk." 

"He's... Gabriel," the angel says with a shrug. He lifts his face to the cold desert sky to study the twinkling stars high above. "He has his reasons." 

Arching a brow, Dean awaits further explanation. 

Castiel sighs. "I was surprised to find Gabriel; or rather, he found me. We thought he'd perished back when the fighting began, so‒" 

Dean's face splits with a wide yawn, and Castiel sighs again. 

"Try to get some rest, Dean." 

The hunter huffs. "What about‒" 

"I don't need to sleep, so I'll keep watch. I'll tell you whatever you want to know in the morning." Castiel squeezes his hand; then, with a gentle caress along his temple, Dean is fast asleep. 

~~~~~~ 

The sun slants across his face, bright and cheerful, as Dean wakes slowly. Somewhere overhead, a bird sings in the normal-looking, Earth-like tree. He feels content after sleeping through the night with none of his usual nightmares, and surprisingly warm, given the chill in the early morning air. 

He must have been well and truly exhausted because he doesn't remember when he snuggled up to Castiel – not that he's protesting; Castiel makes a pretty comfortable pillow – or how they ended up on top of the trench coat with the angel's black suit jacket tucked under the hunter's chin. Dean cranes his head to see what Castiel could possibly be doing if he doesn't sleep. 

The angel is contemplating the sky, watching the sun turn the atmosphere rosy and golden, his eyes free from the stress of his Heavenly duties. Castiel looks carefree and tranquil, as though there is no place he'd rather be than resting out in the middle of God's green earth with his arms wrapped around Dean. 

Dean's breath catches in his throat, and Castiel glances at him, a gentle smile playing across his lips. "Good morning, Dean." He still has his tie around his neck, and even _that_ looks at ease. 

"Did you do something to knock me out last night?" Dean asks, sitting up and disentangling himself from Castiel as the peace of mind he woke up to begins to fray around the edges. 

Arms encircle him from behind as Castiel hooks his chin over Dean's shoulder. "Stop doing that, Dean." 

"There are easier ways to get people to sleep with you," Dean teases lightly, settling into his usual flippant mode to hide his growing apprehension. He tries to pull away, but Castiel maintains a tight grip on him, so he angles his head until he catches sight of the angel's troubled frown. "I don't know what you're talking about." 

"Why are you distancing yourself?" Castiel asks, sounding uncertain. 

Dean drops his gaze and appeases his restless, pent-up energy by wringing his hands. "Dude, I haven't bathed in several days. I feel too gross right now to be, you know, whatever this is..." he says, fumbling over his words. He ends up shrugging. 

Castiel gives an exasperated sigh and presses a finger to Dean's temple. 

The grime is gone from his hair, skin, and clothing. Dean's mouth even feels minty fresh. "Did you just mojo me clean?" 

"You're deflecting. Stop it," Castiel admonishes softly. He slides his hands along Dean's arms, drawing the hunter's interlaced fingers apart. "I can hear the guilt clamoring in your head." 

Dean stills, anxiety coiling through him. "Are you reading my mind?" 

"Not intentionally, but your thoughts are very... loud." 

"This feels normal being here... with you," Dean admits. He shivers as Castiel charts the veins just under the skin of his wrists. "And I don't understand any of this, which makes me feel even worse." 

There's a current flowing between them, fraught with emotion that Dean isn't prepared to wade through just yet, but he's being pulled under, carried away. He needs to understand what's happening to him and he just doesn't have a moment to spare. 

"I don't have time to waste with this, Cas. I have to rescue Sam. I have one real job, and of course, I go and blow it – _again!_ " he babbles as guilt settles heavily in his stomach, gnawing away at him. "I certainly don't deserve‒" 

The angel flips Dean onto his back, straddling his hips and trapping his wrists beside his head in the blink of an eye. Gaping up at Castiel wide-eyed from the ground, Dean finds himself almost too stunned to remember what he'd been rambling on about. 

"Dean, you deserved to be saved. You deserve to be happy. You are not at fault here," Castiel states, leaning in close. "Why do you insist on taking responsibility for things you‒" he stops and tilts his head. 

"What‒ saved, _happy? >/i>" Dean spits out. He tries to swallow around the lump in his throat as he remembers the fear and resignation on his brother's face the night before. He'd already failed Sam, and he couldn't let that happen to Castiel as well. "Good things don't happen. There's always a catch. Like the whole saving the world thing, which Heaven apparently decided to dump on me...." _

"First off, you are not to blame for what happened to Sam, and I am here of my own accord." Castiel says, markedly relaxing his grip as realization sets in. "And you only know part of the story. They aren't demons; not true demons. They are Fallen angels – my siblings." 

" _What?_ " Dean repeats, but the information shocks him from his self-destructive thoughts. 

"When my Father created humans, he told us to love you as He did. Some of the angels failed to appreciate that and started fighting, in Heaven and on Earth. God banished them here until they could learn to behave." 

"And the shard?" Dean retorts, grateful for what he views to be a more productive and less emotional shift in the discussion. 

"Lucifer cracked the crystal that locked them here; the Graces held within became twisted," explains Castiel. 

"Oh. Guess that's what I saw in the shard; but what does any of this have to do with me?" 

"The angels also became twisted. They seek to destroy all of humanity, but there came a prophecy which said that the Righteous Man could stop the Fallen, and so they had to stop the Righteous Man first. Dean, _everything_ you have gone through was engineered by the Fallen to keep you from fulfilling that prophecy." 

Dean's chest constricts painfully. He feels like crawling right out of his skin; the degree to which his life has been altered – the terrible decisions he thought he had been making had been so controlled, and by a force so beyond his comprehension – makes him feel both totally insignificant, and utterly essential to the grand scheme of the universe. 

He inhales slowly, and tries to drive the runaway thoughts back into the recesses of his mind. 

"Dean." 

Breath fans across his cheek, and Dean gazes up into the blue eyes above him. He's still pinned by Castiel, but instead of the weight causing him to spiral further out of control, Dean feels grounded and‒ 

He opens his mouth to counter his own thoughts, but instead he asks, "Why did _you_ save me?" 

Taken aback, Castiel stares down at the hunter. "It was the right thing to do." 

Resentment flares within him, but Castiel had started pushing first and now Dean can't seem to keep from pushing back. "So, after sitting up there for who knows how long, watching them tear apart my family, you decide to break out of Heaven and into Hell because it suddenly felt wrong to you?" Dean asks, his volume rising. 

"Yes, but... Raphael would not let anyone leave after what happened to Michael and Lucifer," he sighs as his eyes fall shut. "I was unable to slip past her quickly enough to save your family." 

Disgrace colors Castiel's cheeks, and shame tugs at Dean, making him feel like he's acting like the villain of a children's story. It's not exactly a revelation that he's being an ass, but Castiel hasn't done anything to warrant such behavior from Dean. 

"Hey, no," Dean says, as his anger yields to fierce affection. He pulls loose of the grip, knowing full well that the angel could easily keep Dean restrained if he wanted, to trace fingers down Castiel's cheek. "Sorry. Defense mechanism or something. I don't trust others easily, for obvious reasons. I think I'm freaking out a little bit here...." 

Maybe he's finally just snapped. Dean spent most of his life hunting supernatural creatures, monsters that hurt people and destroy lives, and angels definitely fall into that category. And after everything he and Sam have been through, he shouldn't trust Castiel so easily. Someone _will_ end up suffering the consequences – Sam already has – which is more his fault than Castiel's, but‒ 

"Dean!" The low gravel of Castiel's voice draws Dean out of his thoughts. The angel tugs the hand away from his face, places it against his chest, and Dean can feel the steady thud of Castiel's not-so-human heart. 

"I just met you, what, yesterday? Cas..." His eyes tick down to where his palm presses into the seemingly redundant rise and fall of Castiel's chest. "Why do I...." He trails off, unable to ask his question, so he plucks at the bright material of Castiel's shirt. 

"It wasn't that long ago, but we didn't meet yesterday...." When he sighs, Dean glances back up, and catches the pang of sorrow that flickers across‒ 

"These are your emotions," Dean exclaims. "All these months, I've been feeling _your_ emotions." 

"Some, yes; but they are yours as well," Castiel clarifies. 

"But I thought you didn't feel this... stuff." But as Dean thinks upon it, Gabriel had been exhibiting a pretty wide range of emotions. And Castiel too, to a lesser degree. The longer Dean is around the angel, the more he seems to open up. 

Castiel blinks once, slowly. He gazes blandly at Dean for a moment, then asks, "Why do you say that?" 

"Well, to start with, _that_ look doesn't help," Dean replies. "The whole 'no eat, no sleep, and created only to obey' thing?" 

"We can feel – hunger, pain, emotion – if we choose to do so. Since these things are not necessary to our existence, angels usually do so only when it's beneficial," Castiel replies with a frown. 

"I- I don't know what that even means," Dean sputters. A crease forms between his brows as he tries to parse the information. The concept is too far beyond his point of view, and he just feels ignorant and needlessly complicated. "Why is any of this happening?" 

"How do you not remember?" Castiel asks, the objection in his eyes as loud as the challenge in his voice. 

"Traumatizing experience?" he tries, giving a brittle smile. 

"Rescuing you from Hell was no easy task," Castiel says, not appreciating the attempted joke. "I was weary, drained from fighting off demons while searching the wasted terrain of Perdition for you. I didn't mean to..." he breaks off, exhaling a shaky breath. 

Anticipation suddenly thrums through Dean as Castiel presses his lips into a determined line. He slips his hand between the layers of Dean's clothing, and up through his sleeve. 

"Cas, what are you‒" Dean's voice dwindles to nothing at the unexpected surge of need that spikes across his nerves when Castiel aligns his palm with the mark he left behind. Electricity sparks between them, and Dean would swear that Castiel is touching the very heart of him, raking through his soul trying to find‒ 

_He stands fearfully at the feet of a vaguely humanoid wall of light that towers over him, stretching a thousand feet into the air. He's never seen something so breathtaking or wondrous – certainly not within the shadowy confines of Hell – or imposing. He turns to escape; anything and everything that lives in this place seeks only to intimidate, humiliate, and terrify._

"WAIT," commands a voice that resonates through the air, thunderous and formidable. The blazing pillar fluctuates as though to give chase. 

He stops, because how can he run from a presence such as this? But the light begins to shift, bending and breaking as it folds inward, and he has to shield his eyes as all that radiance compresses, burning as bright as the sun as it begins to shrink in upon itself, until a man stands before him with eyes bluer than the sky, wearing only a pure, white light that emanates from somewhere within. 

"Dean," the creature says, eyes full of compassion and devotion and love. 

And he takes a step back; the instinct to retreat from the gaze so intently turned upon him becomes too strong to ignore. 

"Dean." The being reaches out tentatively, pleading. "My name is Castiel. I only want to help." 

He cowers back, falling to the ground to be away from those fingers, the potential touch; even though he senses no malignant intent, everything in this place hurts, is designed to punish. 

"We have to leave this place." Castiel drops to his knees and inches closer, saying, "Please, trust me!" 

The ground begins to rumble and he knows why: Alastair is coming. _For him, or maybe the being kneeling before him. A fresh wave of fear sweeps through him; the thought of the demon tearing through such a beautiful creature is too ghastly and tragic._

There isn't time for this. There is never time for such caution, but still he asks, "You aren't going to hurt me?" 

"Never," replies Castiel with such certainty. 

And he believes this creature, this Castiel who shines like a beacon and chases away the darkness of Hell, trusts him as he tumbles forward. Castiel catches him as just Alastair arrives. 

With a furious bellow, the demon implodes into a black vapor and winds around trying to ensnare them both. 

Choking on the demon's malevolence, he tries to hide in the crook of Castiel's neck as Alastair attempts to forcibly separate them from each other. A hand slides along his shoulder, gripping him tightly, and a heat lances through him, originating from that point of contact. It spreads throughout him, breaking him apart to burn away the contamination of the Pit that clings to his soul, then fusing him back together, and he can't help but cradle that radiance to him, hold it near to his heart as he gazes up into the shining face above him. Castiel's eyes widen in surprise. 

A light bursts outward and straight through Alastair, forcing the demon to flee from the cleansing fire. 

"Hang on," comes the rough demand – Castiel sounds winded and discordant – then they're soaring upward, accelerating faster and faster; they illuminate the dreary skies as they fall away from Hell like a shooting star- 

That star is falling into Dean, and there's no way he can contain _so much._

Reality rushes back to him, though it doesn't reflect the intensity of what he's feeling in the slightest as blinding Grace collides with his soul, smashing through the sucking abyss that Dean has become, enfolding him with love and healing him.... 

Dean drags air into his neglected lungs, his eyes immediately darting up to find Castiel's. 

The angel is uncertain; Dean can feel it resonating through their link. He knows Castiel feels afraid of being an unwanted burden and guilty for being the cause of so much misery; he's afraid of no longer being useful, of feeling unneeded and unwanted and unrequited in his love for Dean. 

Unable to endure the rush of conflicted, fearful thoughts any longer, Dean rolls up, dislodging Castiel and breaking the intense connection. He pulls the angel closer, sliding one hand up into Castiel's hair, the other down the his back to clutch at his hip – trying to return the warm gesture in a way Dean knows how. 

What had felt like a missing piece before is suddenly an entire picture, and _this thing_ between them finally clicks into place. Dean doesn't understand how he could've have overlooked something so important because it really is simple: they get each other even if they don't always agree. Similar thoughts echo back across their bond even though Castiel is no longer directly accessing the hunter's soul. 

Castiel presses his cheek into the curve of the Dean's neck, and Dean glances up to the trees‒ 

They're frozen in place. The birds are silent and even the heat of the sun feels still. "What the Hell? Did‒ did you stop time?" 

Castiel follows Dean's gaze. "Oh." A hint of a smile crosses his lips as though the answer is simple. "You were worried about losing what precious time we have." 

"You're not serious...." Dean gapes, his eyes widening. "You are!" 

Castiel actually smirks at the reaction. "Only a little – just this moment, and only for a short distance around us. Time is difficult to manipulate as is, and‒" 

Dean literally can't respond with anything verbal, and he halts the conversation by grabbing Castiel's face and kissing him senseless before the angel has the chance to start in on the calculus of temporal anomalies or something. Not that it would be boring, but the subject is a little beyond Dean, something Sam would be more interested in and‒ 

His stomach picks that moment to growl, and Dean draws away, looking a little embarrassed as he casually wraps an arm around his midsection to quiet the grumbling. 

Sliding his hand into pocket of his coat, Castiel removes three Snickers bars and asks. "Would these be of use?" 

Dean's mouth waters at the sight. "Oh, yes! Not the healthiest breakfast ever, but beggars can't be choosers," he says as he accepts the chocolate and rips a wrapper open. "You don't want one?" 

"Angels don't need to eat or drink or sleep, Dean." 

"Then why have you been carrying them around?" 

"Gabriel gave them to me. He has a bit of a‒" 

"‒sweet-tooth. Right, because he's a trickster.... You'll indulge in emotions and spontaneous... whatever this is‒" Dean waves a hand, then his eyes bulge, stricken by the thought that Castiel might misunderstand his point, and he adds, " _‒not that there's anything wrong with that_ – but you willingly avoid the little comforts like food?" Bewildered, he shakes his head and looks at Castiel, his eyes bearing a silent ultimatum. "You do _not_ know what you're missing out on. When this is all over, I'll take you to get a huge, juicy cheeseburger. With bacon." 

Castiel takes a moment to consider the proposal. "That sounds terrible." 

"I think you mean awesome," Dean corrects. "I promise... you'll love it‒" 

"Well, isn't this interesting?" a voice cuts in. A shadow falls across them and the world resumes around them as the hunter twists around to face the stranger. Castiel leaps up and steps protectively in front of Dean. 

A black-haired man wearing a dark denim jacket, a dove grey t-shirt, and jeans immediately holds his hands up in a gesture recognized universally as _not armed._

Just because he has no weapon doesn't mean he can't harm them, though. Knowing this from experience, Dean rises to his feet. The guy's imposing stature and overbearing confidence do nothing to engender trust either. 

The man tips his head back to look at the sky, then slants his gaze back to the hunter. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Dean." 

"Michael," Castiel hisses through his teeth. 

A cold chill threads along his spine as Dean meets Michael's piercing green gaze, and he treads back a few paces, pulling Castiel with him. Michael smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his calculating eyes. "Don't go. Please, I'm on your side." 

"What do you want?" Dean asks, cautious interest warring with his desire to bolt. 

Michael shrugs. "We want the same thing." 

Forcing himself to not step back, Dean cocks his head to the side. "You've got twenty seconds; I'm listening." 

"Dean," Castiel warns, clasping the hunter's shoulder. 

"Come with me. I can get you into the tower, help you retrieve your brother, and stop the Fallen." 

Dean studies Castiel, before turning back to Michael. "Why would you help us?" 

"He's lying," Castiel insists, stepping between Dean and Michael. 

"Angels can't lie, Castiel," Michael replies calmly. 

"Even if that were true, you're no longer an angel." 

"Some of us fought for God, for the humans, and this is the thanks we get? God stranded us here, then Lucifer went and destroyed our only chance to go back." Michael's eyes shutter to white, his expression warping with a fury that crushes the air from Dean's lungs. He glares at Castiel like he wants to rip the angel limb from limb before snarling, "We will burn this planet to ash and start anew." 

Dean grabs at the fingers still pressed into his shoulder and Castiel transports them elsewhere. 

"I have to save Sam," Dean declares. He leans over to rest his hands upon his knees, easing the way to his lungs for some much needed air. "And stop them once and for all." 

Castiel certainly doesn't look like he had just come face-to-face with impending death. He peers back in the direction they came from, making sure they aren't being followed. His eyes slide to Dean's. "I can take you there," he says and raises a hand. 

"Whoa, hey now," the hunter says as he shies out of reach. His heart stutters in his chest at the thought of bringing Castiel anywhere near those monsters. "Cas, you can't come with me." 

His hand hangs there, forgotten, and Castiel's brow twitches like Dean is speaking gibberish. "Yes, I can, and I intend to do so," he corrects. 

Dean ducks his head and inhales deeply. "I appreciate everything you've done and all, but this‒" Fingers grip his chin, tugging him up to meet concerned eyes. He straightens, and Castiel cups the side of his face; Dean turns into the warm caress. 

"This is all so much to ask of you, I know." He presses his forehead to Dean's, his eyes falling closed. "I won't leave you alone to this task; I want to help." The corner of his mouth curls up, and then Castiel is gazing up at Dean with determination. "How else are you going to get close enough to sneak inside?" 

"All right, if you insist," Dean sighs and pulls back, but he returns the smile. "Together then." 

~~~~~~ 

They materialize at the top of a cliff with a hundred foot drop and scramble behind the cover of a pile of boulders before the guards can catch sight of them. The tower is circular and rises into the air high above; the only entrance lies across a bridge that spans the ravine, which is obviously a defense mechanism designed to keep people out. 

"What happens if there's a fire?" Dean mutters, as he searches for an alternate entrance. "Any idea how we get in?" 

"There," Castiel points down at the base of the cliff where several drains ring the base of the structure. Water sluices out from the mouths of demon faces carved into the rock around the pipes. 

"Well, that doesn't scream pompous asshat at all, does it? At least we know we have the right place." 

Castiel opens his mouth to respond, but Dean cuts him off. "How are we supposed to get down there?" There's not enough purchase along the way for them to climb down. 

The angel abruptly stands, wraps an arm around Dean's waist, and hugs him close. 

"What the-?" 

"Hang on," Castiel says. 

Dean scrabbles to comply as the angel steps right off the edge. 

Time slows down for a split second and then they're falling, accelerating so quickly into the well of gravity that Dean's shocked cry is lost somewhere in the space overhead. He witnesses a brief glimpse of the ground rushing to meet them when the sound of shredding air cuts in above the roaring wind. At the noise, he cranes his head around as much as he can and catches sight of dark feathers erupting from Castiel's back. 

Massive wings flare out, arcing gracefully out to either side, and he and Castiel jerk upward suddenly as the blue-black pinions scoop up the wind beneath them. They hover in midair as Castiel pumps his wings to keep them aloft, but their combined weight begins to drag them back to the Earth. 

They plummet a little too quickly for Dean to call it gliding, the heavy limbs flapping steadily all the way to the ground, but all in all, he is grateful he's not a bloody smear staining the floor of the chasm. 

The landing is rough, the force of it jarring up through his knees, and he stumbles out of the circle of Castiel's arms. Pivoting around, he finds the angel frowning up at the cliff like he's calculating the distance, his wings furled up and out of the way. "Dude, you have wings!" 

"Of course I do." Cocking his head to the side like he doesn't understand the outburst, Castiel explains, "I'm an angel. How did you think I was flying around earlier?" 

Before Dean can say more on the subject, the appendages vanish from view altogether, and Castiel pushes past him as though sprouting feathers was such a common enough occurrence that they could refrain from any further discussion on the subject. He trails behind Castiel as they pick their way across the broken stones that litter the ground. 

~~~~~~ 

"There, there, Sammy. You'll feel better soon enough," the woman coos as she ties her blond hair away from her face. She would be pretty if it wasn't for the fact that she is brandishing a vicious-looking knife and analyzing him with chalky white eyes. 

He doesn't particularly appreciate being strapped to a surgical table either. "Why are you doing this?" 

"Well, we have big plans," she says as she saunters out of his field of view. When she returns, she is holding a silver goblet. She drags the blade down the inside of her forearm, then catches the blood that pours out with the cup. "Your brother is trying to ruin them, and we need your help in order to stop him." 

"We're running out of time, Ruby. How long will this take?" interrupts a man from the doorway. 

Sam shudders at the malevolence in the voice and, not wanting to draw unnecessary attention to himself, side-eyes the owner. Other than the evil radiating from him, everything about the blond man is unremarkable. 

Her wound already healing over, Ruby looks up just long enough to glower at the intrusion. "Unless you would like to donate," she says, gesturing at the cup with her knife, "I suggest you go find someone else to bug." 

"As you wish," he acquiesces with a bow, but a wicked smile spreads across his face. 

~~~~~~ 

The tunnel is dim and dank. Something shuffles after them, growling from the darkness every once in awhile, but whatever it is seems to be scared of them, so it sticks to the shadows. The catacombs are much older than the upper portions of the tower, and it's obvious as they crawl past a collapsed section that the tunnels are rarely used. 

Stalactites drip into pools where tiny strands of microbes that thrive on the sulfur hanging in the air glow a faint green. Dean presses his sleeve to his nose to block out the noxious fumes. "This place stinks. I hope the air clears up once we get out of these caves. You doing okay, Cas?" 

The angel blanches. Even though he seems unaffected by the sulfur, he is ashen-faced and jittery. "This place is evil." 

"Yeah, well, you know‒" Dean emphatically waves a hand around "‒demons." 

They come to a stop at a fork in the path. Nothing significant stands out to Dean as he attempts to figure out which way to go. He glances at Castiel, who just shakes his head, distracted. 

"This place is messing with my‒" 

"‒divine compass?" Dean interjects. He tries a smile to lighten things up, but they're both too tense for him to pull it off. 

"...yes." Castiel is distant as he tries to concentrate once more, but he deflates after a few seconds. "I'm sorry." 

"Not your fault. Thanks for trying, though," Dean says, squeezing Castiel's shoulder gently. 

"Maybe we should split up?" 

"No!" He steps into Dean's space, eyes frantically searching the hunter's face. "You have no way to protect yourself. We should stay together." 

"Cas," Dean sighs. He pinches the bridge of his nose and thinks. "We're running out of time, right?" Castiel's gaze darts to the side, but he nods. "And you can fly to me whenever, right?" Castiel nods again, though he still doesn't seem convinced. "What other choice do we have?" 

"I just‒" Castiel refuses to look at him, "‒don't want to lose you." 

A frustrated noise slips from Dean and he seizes Castiel, palms framing the angel's face and forcing his attention back to Dean. His fingers slide back, threading through the short, black strands of hair, and Dean yanks Castiel forward, claiming his lips. 

Castiel's eyes widen in surprise, glinting cornflower blue even in the shadows before sliding shut. He leans in, deepens the kiss, and he clutches at Dean's wrists to keep him from breaking away too soon. 

Melting into the embrace, Dean feels both wanted and sheltered, but he shifts his hands down to rest lightly upon the slope of Castiel's shoulder and pulls back. Castiel grumbles in frustration, but Dean leans in to bump their foreheads together. "Trust me." 

"But‒" 

"You pick one direction, and I'll go the other. Just come get me if you find anything, okay?" He smiles and kisses Castiel again, swift but sweet this time. 

"Be still, my beating heart. If it isn't the one who got away and his little pet angel. What have I done to deserve this gift?" 

A malignant force presses in on them from out of nowhere, flinging both hunter and angel into the nearest wall. Dean's head cracks against the clammy stone and his stomach churns with terror as Alastair slithers into the space between them. Fingers dig into their throats, and the Fallen twists his narrow face toward Dean. "Oh, how I've been missing _you._ Did you miss me?" 

With that sing-song cadence, the voice he hears in his nightmares, Dean shudders. Words stick in his throat, trapped there by the knowledge of what this creature is capable of, but Dean does manage to answer with a quick and adamant shake of his head. 

"Alastair," Castiel growls, his tone pushing beyond the mere threat of violence. He scrabbles to free himself from the hand crushing his windpipe and the blighted power pinning him against the wall. 

"I'll be with you in just a moment, Castiel," he hums, preoccupied, and licks up along Dean's leaping pulse. 

The hot breath on Dean’s face is too much to take. He closes his eyes and tries to bite back a whimper. When Sam had suggested they steer clear of this whole thing, Dean had blocked the possibility of meeting Alastair again from his mind. He's ashamed that he can't contain his fear, that he is shutting down from it. 

Alastair knows it too; he presses a treacherous smile into Dean's skin. "Now that's more like it. Dean Winchester, mighty hunter of all those things that go bump in the night, reduced to a whining pup at the thought of a little torture." 

"Enough!" Castiel shouts, and on impulse, Dean screws his eyes shut. Even then, the flash that fills the passage leaves abstract patterns flickering against his retinas. 

Dean crashes to the floor with Alastair's no longer holding him up. Trying to catch his breath, he rolls onto his hands and knees. 

Castiel strides over to where Alastair has landed and kicks him square in the face. Alastair goes sprawling further down the corridor, but he draws his knees up and flings his legs out, pushing with his hands. The momentum springs him back onto his feet, and he lands in a defensive crouch. 

As Castiel closes the distance between them, Alastair lunges. The angel steps aside quickly enough, but Alastair lashes out with his power and knocks Castiel into the far wall hard enough to make the entire tunnel tremble from the impact. He saunters after, once more grabbing Castiel by the throat. He proceeds to pummel the angel in the stomach, then he lets loose with a punch to the face for good measure, catching Castiel in the jaw. 

"I was right there, Castiel. How could you miss?" Alastair complains scornfully. He shifts forward, dropping his voice to a whisper. Castiel's eyes widen in horror and flit over to Dean. 

Struggling to his feet, Dean tries to gather his wits about him. He can't hear what is being said, but he's quite aware of just how inventive Alastair can be when twisting words into terrifying notions. 

The only thing Dean has on him is the shard, so he wraps his fingers around it, wielding it like a knife as he sneaks as quickly and quietly as he can toward the scuffling pair. 

He is a little concerned about how easily he can creep up on Alastair, and he expects at any moment to find himself lured into some kind of trap. He remains unnoticed though – most likely because Alastair is too busy tormenting Castiel – so when he's standing close enough, he breaks the silence with a frightened "hey!" and thrusts the shard down into the soft flesh between Alastair's neck and shoulder. 

As he jerks it out, Alastair releases Castiel with a howl and wheels around, backhanding Dean across the face. The blow skews his vision and sets off a ringing in his ears. He goes down, losing his bearings and tripping over his own feet as he scrambles to get away. A furious Alastair sets sights on him, and the attention sends a scalding terror streaking through Dean. He gasps and tries to shrink further into the floor. 

"Dean!" The shout comes out as little more than a wheeze as Castiel grabs at Alastair. 

Alastair fists his good hand into Castiel's hair and drags him to his feet, slamming the angel's head repeatedly against the rock until he goes limp. A hand flies out, and the Fallen leers at him. "Goodbye, Dean!" 

A crack sounds as Alastair rips at the empty air. As Dean glances up, the wooden brace above his head begins to split apart. The support disintegrates completely and the ceiling collapses, raining dirt and rock upon his head and burying him beneath a pile of earth. 

~~~~~~ 

Castiel comes to as fingers fist in his hair and wrench his head back. A leather strap cinches tightly around his neck, and he finds himself unable to move much at all. He's sitting in a metal chair, secured to the frame by similar straps around his wrists and ankles. Old but simple wards purposely designed to keep supernatural beings from escaping have been scorched into the leather. 

"There must be some easier way for you to earn your wings," Alastair snarls, his face suddenly filling Castiel's view. "Stealing away into Hell and snatching my little toy from me?" 

He disappears once more, and Castiel can hear Alastair shuffling about behind him. "What are you going to‒" 

"‒do? I don't know." The Fallen interrupts with glee. "This is how we turn those wretched humans into shades. I guess we'll see what happens when the subject is an angel. My guess is that your Grace will be sucked right out of you. I intend to see what makes you tick, so it'll keep me warm once your entrails finally go cold." 

The tinny jangle of a lever being drawn reaches Castiel's ears, followed by the mechanical drone of rotating gears and an agitating metal chain. The wall before him slides away to reveal a brightly polished mirror that hangs over a deep vent. A boom swings the rotating mirror closer, and Castiel tracks a point of reflected light as it courses in his direction. 

The light strikes him in the face, and though he tries to look away, his gaze gravitates back into the full force of the beam. There's a quality to the energy that he recognizes as sunlight, echoes of the happiness and love and warmth that permeates the universe, but it is deceptive; the signature of this energy has been altered, tempered by the greedy darkness of the crystal. 

At first, the ray simply plucks at his essence until he can feel his Grace begin to accumulate just behind his eyes – the eyes are the window to the soul, after all – then it bores into him, ripping and tearing the more he resists. 

Cas is unable to shut his eyes against the intrusion that threatens to cleave his spirit in two. 

~~~~~~ 

The shard is a much better knife than spade, but Dean continues to burrow through the soil and rock until the final layer of sediment gives way. As he shimmies his way out, the handprint upon his shoulder blossoms with a heat that drills into his soul. He curls his fingers around the mark in an attempt to alleviate the searing agony. 

"Cas!" He hollers, mustering his resolve. "You've got to‒" 

~~~~~~ 

"‒fight him!" 

For a moment, Castiel thinks he can hear Dean calling out to him, but the voice belongs to Gabriel! 

"Come on, Cas. I know you've been sitting in Heaven with your thumb up your ass for the last few millennia, but you have powers. Use them!" Gabriel demands. 

"Shut up, archangel," Alastair hisses. 

Focusing inward, Castiel draw on his memories of what it's like to manifest outside the confines of his physical body. With a shove, he reaches past the first three dimensions and into the multitude of curved planes beyond. 

The symbols that bind him to this point in space fizzle and pop, glowing red as he pushes the magic to its limits and unravels the energy from a different existential perspective altogether. The leather incinerates, leaving only a trace of ash behind, and Castiel fights to hold his true form in check. 

He can sense everything in the room as he draws his Grace back into his avatar: Gabriel is trapped within a circle of fire, and Alastair is rushing from the other side of the room to that which is Castiel's more substantial visage. The Fallen may be stronger, but he seems to have forgotten how celestial beings behave while functioning upon a celestial wavelength – Castiel certainly had grown accustomed to working within the linear boundaries of _reality_ – but Castiel is free now. He flies to Alastair, his raw angelic presence cutting neatly through the planes, and embraces the warped figure of what used to be his brother. 

Alastair stops, stunned by both the action itself and the divine radiance enveloping him. His eyes momentarily turn completely white; then Castiel materializes and slides his silver blade through the column of Alastair's neck, instantly puncturing spinal cord and larynx. 

Golden-hued lightning flashes up through Alastair's skin and arcs back to the razor-sharp point of the weapon. Somewhere above, Castiel feels the crystal blaze to life, and then Alastair's eyes flare with a brilliant blue light as his Grace returns to his vessel and shatters into nothing. 

He releases Alastair and turns to face an applauding Gabriel. The flames lick lazily along the circle, and even from this distance, Castiel feels compelled to move away; he can't imagine what it would be like to be surrounded on all sides. As he approaches the archangel, the feeling becomes a stinging demand. 

"I knew you could do it!" Gabriel cheers. "I must say, Cas, that was pretty impressive.” 

"How do I get you out?" 

"You can't. It takes a lot of this stuff to keep me in here though, and without Alastair to supply the oil, it should burn off pretty quickly." Gabriel shrugs then says, "You've got bigger problems though. The eclipse begins soon, and you need to find the Righteous Man." 

Castiel inhales sharply. "He's still alive?" 

"You know he is," Gabriel says, crossing his arms and looking mildly disappointed. 

Castiel does know – for a fact – that Dean is alive, so he tries to fly to the hunter. 

"Problems?" Gabriel asks, smirking. "I'm not surprised. After that, you'll need to recharge your batteries. You'll have to go the long way, I'm afraid. Go that way. It will lead you to the chamber where the crystal is." He jerks his head at the correct door. 

~~~~~~ 

The pain ceases and Dean whines at the sudden flood of relief. The edges of his vision blur as he scrambles to his feet too quickly, and he leans against the wall until his eyes adapt. 

He still doesn't know which path to take. The trail of blood leading off to the left is almost the deciding factor, except Dean can't shake his intuition that Castiel is in the other direction. If the angel can sense Dean, maybe he can sense Castiel. His shoulder throbs like it concurs, and he takes the tunnel to the right. 

~~~~~~ 

He's been wandering steadily upward forever with no sign of Sam, Castiel or the bad guys – other than the occasional mindless shade. Dean has no problems getting around them though; they seem incapable of acting on their own without direction from one of the Fallen. 

Finally, he stumbles onto an amphitheater. Dean finds himself standing on the of lowest of a series of tiered balconies, and he can hear voices rising in chorus from down in the chamber. He creeps closer and peers cautiously over the low railing. 

Below, the demons stand on a dais, chanting in a language he doesn't recognize. The crystal hangs over a yawning shaft that drops down into the belly of the tower. Odd symbols are drawn in what looks to be blood on the floor around it, and the demons are spaced equidistant from each other within that circle. 

He recognizes Meg, Lilith, Michael, and Lucifer, but the rest are unknown to him: an elfish looking red-headed woman, a very, very solid tall black man, a blond woman who watches on while impatiently playing with a knife, and a dark-haired man wearing an expensive suit. There's no sign of Alastair, and instead of feeling relief, Dean worries that the evil creature is somehow searching him out. 

Sunshine pours from an oculus above into a prism that splits the light into myriad directions. Mirrors and more prisms placed around the walls redirect some of the light to other parts of the tower, but the majority cascades down, illuminating the occupants of the circle and throwing everything beyond into darkness. 

"And so it begins!" Lucifer's announcement rings throughout the hall, but the fallen archangel looks oddly inattentive, his focus cast off into the distance despite how he chants along with the others. 

Dean glances up to the ceiling: the moon is beginning to eclipse the sun. He pulls the shard out, unsure of what he's supposed to do with it, but he knows he will have to figure something out soon. His eyes drift downward only to land upon Castiel standing across the room on a similar ledge, his eyes cast up to the oculus. 

"Cas," he whispers reflexively. Dean had known – guided by intuition – that Castiel was alive, but the sight of him still catches Dean off guard. He is so full of relief that he feels dizzy. 

Even with the distance separating them, Castiel hears Dean, and he gazes back with a mix of expectation, guilt, and fear plastered across his face. 

"There you are!" 

The blithe voice startles Dean, and he spins around to find Sam leaning in from the hallway. There is something off with Sam's posture. When he steps over the threshold, he walks without any limp; though, if Cas healed Dean, any of the Fallen could've healed Sam. Cautiously edging toward his brother, Dean asks, "Sam?" 

"And here I thought you'd be more trouble." 

The Sam standing before him feels wrong, treacherous. His words are calm, collected, and tarnished with corruption. Dean immediately wants to cover his ears to block out the false sound of Sam's voice. "You're not my brother." 

"He's still here. Look, Dean, you misunderstand all of this," the other hunter replies. He nods his head toward the crystal as he advances on Dean. "I just want to make this world a better place, a paradise." 

Dean glances over his shoulder and grimaces; he's running out of room. "What have you done to Sam?" 

Sam tilts his head to the side in much the same way Castiel so frequently does. "You can go free. I'll let Sammy go with you, and maybe even Castiel – just hand over the shard." 

Feeling his heart sink, Dean checks the progress of the eclipse: the moon is almost directly in front of the sun. Movement snags his attention and he sees more demons filing into the lower tiers, and vaguely human forms pressing into the upper rows. 

There is just enough time, just enough space, and so he runs and leaps onto the railing, using it to vault himself toward the crystal. 

"Dean!" Sam hollers after him, his voice biting and a little frantic. 

The crystal catches him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him and the shard from his hand. It sails through the air and over the breach then skitters across the ground. 

Sam also jumps, his eyes never leaving the shard. Dean watches on and expects the worst from such a drop, but Sam lands with the the easy grace of cat then strides after his mark. 

Castiel descends from his position above, his wings manifesting, and snatches it up first. He holds it close to his body as a silver blade appears in his other hand. 

"Come now, Cas," Sam retorts, and though his tone is full of disdain, he carefully edges along just out of the angel's reach. "What do you hope to gain here?" 

Castiel doesn't reply as he circles back toward the middle of the room. He curves his wings out defensively, further expanding his range. Never letting Sam or the other demons stay at his back for very long, his eyes flick around, expecting any of them to try to get the jump on him. Sam makes the first move, charging Castiel head-on. 

The angel vanishes only to reappear behind Sam, and he sweeps out with the upper span of his wing. The dark feathers cloak Castiel's attack as he thrusts the blade forward, but Sam manages to dodge both wing and dagger. He deftly disarms Castiel with one hand while grabbing for the hand holding the shard. Then ducking down and around the wing, he twists Castiel's wrist back and up as he presses the point of the weapon against the angel's throat. "Drop it," Sam suggests with growl, yanking upward and bending Castiel's arm at an awkward angle. 

"I will not," Castiel answers. He tightens his grip as much as the position allows. 

The hunter digs his thumb into the tendon running along the angel's wrist in warning. "Please don't make me do this," he pleads, suddenly sounding just like the real Sam. 

Castiel wavers for the briefest of moments, but then he slaps his free hand to Sam's forehead. Sam's eyes begin to glow and his body lurches. The blade cuts into Castiel's neck as Sam goes rigid, but he ignores it as he concentrates, chasing after the demon blood with his holy power. 

"Cas, don't!" Dean cries out, and the angel stops instantly, hand falling to pull the blade away from his neck. 

Sam doesn't move. 

"Take the shard, and kill him." Lucifer orders. 

"No," Sam declares finally. He steps away from Cas, jerking as though he is trying to shake away the remnants of a clinging dream. 

"You dare defy me?" Lucifer says, angry. He stalks over to Sam and grabs him by the throat. 

Frantic, Dean's eyes dart around as he tries to figure out how to get down. He can't find any purchase to pull himself up, and even then, he's too high up and too far away from the edge of the floor to jump for it. He glances hopelessly back to Sam, and snarls with so much vehemence that his voice cracks. "If you hurt either Sam or Cas, I will rip your dead wings off and feed them to you." 

"Dean," Castiel calls, and the moment their eyes meet, the angel tosses the shard back to Dean. "You can save us: you have to fix the crystal." 

Dean catches it, and Lucifer roars in rage. Sam struggles desperately to break free from the Fallen angel's crushing grip. He tries to use Castiel's blade for defense, but he's too weak. Lucifer easily removes the weapon and promptly tosses the hunter down the shaft. He then whirls on Castiel and, before Castiel can blink, the demon shoves the shining blade in between his ribs. 

"Sam!" Dean can't see very far below him, certainly nothing of his brother's fate. He tries to push away the rising panic, and his eyes dart back to Cas. 

Castiel crumples. The room falls utterly silent as Lucifer catches him, and the angel glances up. 

"This isn't what I wanted, Castiel," Lucifer says, jerking the weapon out and tossing it aside. 

Searing light pours from the puncture, instantly staunching the flow of blood, and Castiel looks down. He frowns and presses a palm to it, his brow creasing with confusion as the light leaks out around his fingers. Eyes lifting to seek Dean out one last time, all the hope there drains out leaving Castiel looking broken and lost. 

"You weren't supposed to interfere," he says, sounding curious, and not at all troubled by his brother's critical state. "But I guess this is the way it was meant to be," Lucifer adds and drops Castiel to the ground without further ado. "Now, about that shard..." He says, holding his hand out expectantly. 

Tears track down Dean's face and drop onto the chunk of crystalline rock beneath him. He watches them trace along the smooth surface, flawless except for the space missing the piece cleaved loose that he now holds in his hand. He thinks of Sam and Cas, both lost to him now, and a hot fury surges up, engulfing him. 

"With a little more help from us, your brother would've been capable of commanding entire armies of our shades. I was in his head, there," Lucifer says, tapping his temple. "He was never happy with you – by the way, you're a terrible brother – and look where sticking with you got him: killed... twice now." 

The Fallen are backing away, agitated and fearful of Dean, and they keep glancing back to Lucifer as he antagonizes the grief-stricken hunter. 

Darkness falls across the room as the moon fully occults the sun. The edges of the shard glitter, reflecting the remaining light back at Dean. His fingers track down, instinctively searching out the recess in the crystal. It occurs to Dean that this tiny little defect is the cause of so much suffering. Sam and Castiel may have reluctantly dragged him here, but he knows in his heart that their deaths will be the last. He will end this feud. 

He looks up to the sky and as the heavens lock into place, he slides the shard back into place. Dean takes shallow pleasure in the horror that flashes across Lucifer's face. 

The corona of the sun blazes to life, and the prism above focuses the oddly vivid light into a laser that scorches right through Dean's left shoulder and into the formation bearing his weight. Blood splashes onto the crystal, sizzling as the heat intensifies. Something unnatural roils within it and it thrums with power. The internal fractures shift and spread, and a crack concusses through the room as a burst of energy explodes outward, sending Dean sprawling to the floor. 

As the crystal incandesces, it begins to liquefy, the impurities within fusing together. It solidifies into a uniform crystal of perfect clarity. Rays shoot out, catching and paralyzing the demons in place. Their eyes blaze a luminous blue, and Dean has to shut his eyes against the building light that washes everything to white. 

~~~~~~ 

Either Fate is really twisted, or he's not _destined_ to die yet, because Sam doesn't land very far from where he was tossed. A crossbeam broke his fall, and probably most of his ribs, but he isn't going to complain too much at the moment. Every part of his body hurts though, and he doesn't think he will be able to remain conscious for much longer so he scrunches his eyes shut and he prays. 

"This really isn't the safest place to take a nap." 

Not expecting any response to his silent pleas, Sam jolts and almost loses his tenuous grip, but a hand steadies him and he looks up. "Gabriel," he breathes in awe. His demon-blooded vision allows him to see beyond what his normal human sight is capable of; Sam is just barely able to comprehend the image superimposed over the other being as: "every living thing within Creation." 

Warmth floods his body, healing his injuries, and searing the demonic taint from his veins. 

The archangel is crouching precariously beside Sam, multiple pairs of huge golden wings flared out and acting as counterweights. "Come on, kiddo. Let's go find our wayward brothers," he says and taps the hunter's temple. 

~~~~~~ 

As the radiance subsides and Dean's eyes adjust, Gabriel appears with Sam on the other side of the circle. The turbulent feeling in Dean's chest eases slightly as Sam rolls over and they lock eyes. The archangel helps Sam up, then Sam catches sight of Castiel, and he deflates. 

A rush of panic spurs Dean forward. He scrambles to where Castiel lays collapsed in a heap of black feathers and pulls Castiel's lax hand away from the wound. There's no blood, no light ‒ there's nothing. Despite the numbness in his arm, Dean gathers the angel up, mindful of the drooping wings. He brushes a dark lock of hair away from Castiel's face, and when Castiel still doesn't stir, he buries his face in the bend of the angel's neck. 

He fulfilled the prophecy, but nothing had been mentioned about this. Dean had assumed they'd either all make it through the final battle, or all perish, but this wasn't supposed to happen. He hadn't considered what he would do if he ended up surviving and Castiel didn't. 

"Dean." 

He doesn't recognize the voice, so he ignores it, but Gabriel and Sam are suddenly crouching to either side of him, snarling up at the speaker. 

"Back off, Michael," Gabriel cautions as Sam snatches Castiel's discarded blade up for protection. 

"Hello, Gabriel. It's nice to see you again too," Michael greets. "I have no intention of harming Dean; I only wish to speak with him." 

Dean feels Michael approaching him, the force of the archangel's presence physically displacing the air around them. He doesn't really care. 

"Thank you, Dean, for saving us." 

Michael sounds so full of gratitude and awe that Dean looks up in shock. The other angels are all weeping. Then his wrath flares back to life as Michael's words sink in. He opens his mouth to reply, but anguish crashes into him like a landslide, arresting his ability to speak and leaving him with only a blistering glare to direct at Michael. 

The archangel flinches but gazes upward, and Dean's eyes track along the same path. The shades had been returned to their original human bodies during the blast of the crystal. Michael lifts his hands and everyone in the balconies disappear. "They are where they belong now." He cants his head to the side and examines Dean, then turns to the angels at his back and holds out his palm. "Lucifer." 

The blond archangel stands there, looking utterly crestfallen, his eyes cast to the ground and his shoulders hunched with regret. He remains motionless until Michael beckons once more. 

Sam shifts restlessly behind Dean as Lucifer draws closer. The angel is strangely subdued compared to his earlier brazen attitude. Lucifer meets Dean's eyes, then glances down at Castiel and sorrow streaks through his expression. "I didn't think he would... I'm sorry." 

"Save your apologies for someone who cares," Dean responds, his voice breaking with emotion. 

Lucifer stiffens, his jaw clenching with frustration, and he strides the last few steps between them. His fingers loop around the hunter's jaw, forcing him to look up, and their intense glares collide. 

Sam surges to his feet and angles the blade against the hollow of Lucifer's throat. He digs in just enough to pierce skin and draw blood, as much as a warning as Lucifer is likely to get. "Don't." 

"Sam..." Gabriel tries, sounding protective of both hunter and angel. 

Lucifer ignores them both and bends down, placing a tender kiss to Dean's forehead before rematerializing safely beside Michael. 

"What did you-" 

Sam's question is drowned out as a heat spreads from the consecration and down through Dean's body, chasing away the pain as his shoulder heals and filling him with a sense of serenity. It flows from his fingers into Castiel, and the angel begins to warm up. 

Castiel's eyes fly open and he blinks owlishly up at Dean. His lungs expand sharply as he gasps, dragging in a shuddering breath. "Dean?" 

"Cas...!" Dean leans into the tentative fingers that caress his cheek. He presses his lips against Castiel's palm before clasping it to his cheek with his own hand. 

"We were arrogant and destructive, and for that, we were made to learn a lesson," Michael explains. 

"Instead, we tried to escape our punishment by shattering the crystal that locked us to this realm," Lucifer chimes in. "We became twisted, hateful creatures. With your courage, your sacrifice, you have freed us." 

"Great. Really, I mean I'm thrilled that we could be of service. It's a real privilege to have died, to have gone through Hell, both literally and figuratively, to help you through your daddy issues." Dean replies. In case he has failed to make his point he adds, "You guys are a bunch of dicks." 

Only the hint of a smile appears on Michael's face, but laughter fills his eyes. "Hold him to you, for you are a part of each other now," the archangel says. "You do share a more profound bond." 

And then the angels disappear from sight. 

"Well, congratulations, you two. You have Michael's blessing." Gabriel smirks. 

"If the world is safe," Sam says, pinching the bridge of his nose, "can we go home now?" 

Gabriel obliges. 

~~~~~~ 

The stacks of wrecked cars in Bobby's yard around Dean add a nostalgic feeling as he, Cas, and Sam watch the sunset from the hood of the Impala. The suspension creaks, and Dean turns to find Gabriel sitting atop the roof of the vehicle like he owns it. 

"Hey, get off my car," Dean berates the archangel. He gets a bag of food to the face for his effort. 

"Well, hello to you too!" Gabriel says as he unpacks the other bag and hands a burger to Castiel. "I come bearing gifts. Don't thank me all at once." 

"Gabriel," Castiel acknowledges as he discreetly eyes the offering before accepting it and taking a bite. His expression melts to bliss and he merrily chomps into his food. 

"Thought you said you were going home..." Dean grouses as he removes the wrapper from his own burger. 

"Yeah, well, the Heavenly Host may be trying to fix the damage they've caused, but apparently penitent angels are still presumptuous dicks." Sam chokes on his beer, and Gabriel helpfully leans over to thump him on the back. 

Dean looks over his shoulder at Gabriel. "You got yourself kicked out again." 

"Pretty much. Better get used to me, kid. They might be family, but _this_ feels so much more like it," Gabriel declares. He reaches out and affectionately ruffles Dean's hair, leaving the hunter to sputter with indignation. "Besides, our dear Father seems to have gone on an extended vacation, which is why Raphael didn't try to stop this whole mess. Everyone else in Heaven is frantically searching for him." 

"Not surprised he'd want to hide from you lot," Dean mutters. 

"Have you tried Dean's room?" Sam suggests. Dean turns an impassive look upon his brother. 

"What? Bobby's walls are a little thin, and I could've sworn... well, you kept mentioning God," Sam says, smiling innocently. 

A startled noise escapes from Gabriel and he busies himself with trying to dislodge the food he inhaled down the wrong pipe. 

If his brother wants to go there, Dean is willing to elucidate. "Sam is exaggerating. Cas and I were only‒" Sam slides his palm over Dean's mouth, but he continues talking, and Sam's eyes get rounder as his cheeks turn redder. 

"You were right, Dean. These make me‒" Castiel wolfs down the remnants of his meal and licks the grease from his fingers "‒very happy." 

Dean yanks the hand away from his face. "Just wait until you try some pie!"


End file.
